


Filial Pedantics

by Briarwitched



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: (Clark is actually a burnt cinnamon bun), Alien Biology, Bruce Wayne is familiar with human emotions, Clark gets a character arc, Clark is Passive Aggressive Deadbeat, Clark is an asshole, Conner gets a character arc that isn't becoming a watered down clark kent, Conner is done with everything, Family Issues, Gen, Humor, Kaldur is a Good Friend, Lex is Mean Science Dad, Lex is a trainwreck, Snark, Terminal Illnesses, Wolf is a good boy, medical drama, post season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briarwitched/pseuds/Briarwitched
Summary: After failing to swallow kryptonite in an attempt to beat his terminal illness to the punchline, Conner is confronted by the least super of his two genetic donors as he wanders the desert states solo. Meanwhile, Lex is suffering from both a relapse of kryptonite cancer and the delusion that he's Conner's father-- a condition that leads him to insist that he take over Conner's end of life care while he attempts to cure him himself.It's not exactly like Conner had better plans. Now they can both be dying assholes... together.Yay.
Relationships: Kon-El | Conner Kent/M'gann M'orzz (past)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this little beauty was my palate cleanser after the behemoth that was Comorbidity's first draft: after 300,000 words of intricately chaotic plotlines, I wanted something a little more managable. Something fun. Something short. Something under 50k.
> 
> I mostly succeeded. 
> 
> DC notes for this work: this version of Conner is entirely the Young Justice cartoon version. Storyline takes place after season two and disregards season three. This version of Lex is based off the show, but is supplemented from the old Justice League cartoons where needed (ie, kryptonite cancer and some personality quirks). Clark is an amalgamation of varying Superman personalities.
> 
> Obligatory DC Salt: I wrote this fic because, as fans, we got robbed of the familial drama we deserved between season one and two. The characters got robbed of meaningful arcs in the face of a life conflict that doesn't have a clear cut resolution. Instead, we all got some half baked "brothers" bullshit, as though Conner's character motivations in season one didn't revolve around his frustration that Clark wanted nothing to do with him. Superman went from having (potentially fascinating) flaws and personal conflict to Perfect Unobjectionable Poster-child for Justice (TM). The uncomfortable reality of Lex being Conner's other dad only ever got a passing mention and not the dumpster fire of a showdown it deserved.
> 
> Strap in. There will be s'mores.

Stretched out on his back across the cheap motel's queen sized econo-bed and listening to the rattle of the ancient window mounted air conditioning unit try to fight the desert heat, Conner felt the exact second the lead-foil-covered-kryptonite he'd taken erupted in his stomach and abruptly realized that he didn't want to die.

God, he hadn't thought he could actually feel physically worse than he had for the last few months, but as it turned out, he hadn't quite hit rock bottom when he'd made that call. Damn it.

He lurched to his feet, knees shaking, and staggered towards the bathroom. Sucked in a pained gasp. This had been such a bad idea. How was he going to get it out of him? He'd never thrown up before, wasn't sure he could coerce his hybrid body to do it anyway even in the presence of the tiny amounts of kryptonite. There was a cheap plastic razor in the bathroom; perhaps he could pry free the blade and split his stomach open while it's radiation was still inside him. Would that even pierce his skin? He hoped so. Sure, it might kill him, but anything would be better than the burning-cold weakness spreading out from the core of him in coronas of pain-

Fortunately, his body had his back. This time, anyway.

The square terracotta colored tile of the floor rushed towards him. Barely felt it. Black fuzz encroached on the sides of his vision, like a lens special effect. Apparently Conner _could_ vomit- a faint burning sensation spread up his throat and out his mouth, the world spinning sharply away as it spattered across the tile- oh that was his lunch, gross-

* * *

Breaking up with M'gann again had somehow been more painful the second time. Following the ejection of the Reach from their planet and Wally's death, he and M'gann had crashed back together with the inevitability of waves collapsing in the tide. She was full of so much remorse and grief, while Conner felt full to the brim with pain at the realization that she was really his only option in a world he couldn't grow alongside, burdened with problems no one else could be expected to understand nor handle. Forgiving her seemed like such a small price to pay; she was still a good person, on the whole, and he did love her. The familiar blanket of that love had been such a relief, such a comfort to draw around him again; that reassurance, that companionship, filling his evenings with affection and automatic evening plans. Whatever lingering weirdness from their break up was gone and suddenly, he had his best friend back. For someone held hostage by time, for once, Superboy had been looking forward to things going back to the way they were.

They didn't, of course.

It wasn't just Conner's growing malaise or the exhaustion creeping in at the corners of him. It wasn't the bouts of uneven sleeping interrupting a circadian rhythm he could have once set a clock by. It wasn't the noticeable diminishing of his strength and speed in training. It was the way M'gann looked at him in the quiet moments during the month of their revived relationship, the hint of a sad tenacity in her smile. A sense of perseverance for the sake of some elusive inner reward.

It took until J'onn had returned with the results of the medical tests and told Conner he was dying before he identified the source of her look. The moment they'd gotten those news, something new had been there, for just a split second, unfurling the corners of her eyes and lips: a twitch of bittersweet relief. Not a trace of meanness, but something in her had brightened every bit as much as it dimmed.

He'd let that rattle around in his head and his heart for less than a day.

"Why did you get back together with me?" he asked her that night, as they sat watching nineties sitcoms in the main area of the temporary Bludhaven base, Wolf spread across their feet like a snoring, two hundred pound blanket.

It was quiet in the warehouse. Most of the team had found other living arrangements with more privacy than a curtain, returning only for meetings and training now that Mount Justice was officially out of commission (the Watchtower's facilities tended to get a little crowded). They had full control over the TV most evenings and few interruptions. Conner wasn't really paying attention to the screen and suspected M'gann wasn't as well; the laugh track punctuated the silence without any input from either of them.

She'd looked at him with those sad, compassionate eyes and covered his hand. "Because I still love you and I always will." She studied his face, probing gently at his mind with soothing tendrils, non-invasive. Tilted her head at his mental non-permission to enter, but withdrew. "I'm not going to leave you to face this alone, Conner, if that's what you're wondering. You know I won't. Our friends won't either."

Her hand was a cool weight on his. He stared at it as he composed his next question, brows furrowing. "I do know, but… was that true before? I mean, did you always plan to stay with me, until the end?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Conner. Did I imagine spending a lifetime with you? Of course, silly, I always have. That hasn't changed."

"My lifetime?" Conner asked quietly, meeting her eyes. "Or yours?"

She froze, eyes filling with hurt and pulled her hand back. "That's not fair. Martians live-"

"A very long time, yes," he said. Inhaled slowly. "You're already closer to a hundred than I will ever be and our relationship doesn't change that. It's the timing that gets me, though. We break up and you got together with Lagann. Afterwards, I find out that I can't age, that I won't have a normal life-" he broke off and swallowed, mind flicking involuntarily to the handful of aborted almost-relationships he'd pursued in spite of that knowledge. "-and then when you broke it off with Lagann, you came right back to me, ready to commit to something that failed once before."

"And I was to blame for that failure," she said, eyes shining with tears. "That was on me. I take full responsibility for my actions. Conner, you are my best friend and I love you-"

"I know you do. I believe it to my bones," he said, careful to keep his voice neutral. "And I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, but I need to know if you got back together with me because of that or if you wanted to make sure I wouldn't spend the rest of my painful, short life alone and unloved?"

Tears carved their way down her cheeks to glint in the dim light, but she didn't say no. Couldn't say no. A silence of admission.

He'd nodded and stood. Like that, what facsimile of happiness they'd enjoyed together was over. The next day, he'd packed up a duffel bag and, after a short conversation with Red Tornado about looking after Wolf and Sphere while he did some unspecified 'traveling', he left.

She'd meant it as a kindness, of that he was certain, but it didn't stop the bitter sting. Her love was an obligation, a phase of martyrdom; by Martian standards, his entire life and death fell within the span of what counted as her young adulthood, even if he weren't terminally ill. Devoting what was essentially her twenties to staying with him was a small price to pay for living the rest of her life without guilt over abandoning a friend. That's what that flicker of relief had been, quickly buried by sorrow- his illness was a promise of early release from a prison she'd built for herself out of her best of intentions.

Conner would rather die alone.

He might not have a lot of time left and it might not be worth much even to him, but that didn't mean he wanted to sacrifice it on the altar of M'gann not wanting to feel like a bad person.

* * *

The woods and swamps of the East Coast fell away behind him, receding to the sprawling plains of the Midwest. He avoided Kansas like the plague, routing through Yellowstone instead and then down south until he reached the sweltering desert. Rental cars at first, then busses, then eventually walking. It wasn't like he was on a timetable. He hiked, when he had the energy, though that was becoming harder and harder to come by. It would have been easier with Sphere, but New Gensian tech was easily traceable. Much as he might miss her, Wolf, and his friends, he preferred to pass alone and unwitnessed, rather than burdening everyone he cared about with his slow decline.

Yeah, he knew they would never utter a word of complaint. Everyone would offer sympathy and support without reserve. He just couldn't bring himself to accept it. His friends and teammates had lives of their own and he didn't want to rob their energy from those while his came to its inevitable, early conclusion. Ma and Pa would do something for him, he was fairly certain, but he barely felt like a member of their little family as it was; he couldn't stomach the thought of relying on their kindness and pity, weighing them down with sorrow during what should be a happy time. He already felt like an intruder in their affectionate unit, despite their efforts to welcome him; like an oddly shaped puzzle piece that didn't quite fit even though, by all rights, it matched the ones surrounding it.

The mere idea of telling Clark made his chest hollow out.

That's how Conner found himself wandering the desert, mostly on foot now, and chasing the sun. UV radiation was in great supply among the mesas and Joshua trees. It scorched the earth with its raw power, offsetting the worst of his symptoms. Sometimes he'd lay on the hard, dusty earth and shut his eyes, willing his cells to soak in every drop of yellow sunlight that they could. It didn't help. Wandering and waiting, feeling like a cracked jug with it's water spilling out one drop at a time. It wasn't until a flash of pain followed by spell of dizziness at a flea market had clued him in to the presence of a tiny amount of kryptonite- barely enough for the tip of a pencil's eraser, much less a proper pendant- that he realized that he was tired of his death march.

It had been nearly two months since he'd gotten the news that he'd be dead by his seventh birthday.

Killing more time waiting for the inevitable had seemed slightly worse than killing himself. Stuck between a rock and a hard place (heh, literally), Conner stared down at the kryptonite and realized he wanted to go out on his own terms.

* * *

There was a weird, regular beeping- sharp and authoritative. Actually, he could hear plenty of beeping, all at different tones and pitches. The low roar of many conversations, the echoing calls over the intercom, rattling keyboards, the quick bits of information exchanged between passing professionals. Mostly dosages and health statuses.

For the first flicker of potent super hearing he'd had in weeks, it faded as quickly as it came.

Oh, god. His mouth tasted disgusting. Now he knew: vomiting was the worst.

He inhaled sharply and sat up, only a little startled to see the bleached white sheets pulled up across his torso and the egg-nog colored machines surrounding his gurney bed. Wincing around the headache pounding in his temples, he glanced down at his arms, at the IV needles trapped close to his skin with tape. When they'd been inserted, he must have still been close to the kryptonite in his vomit, but now he was far enough from it's effects that his flesh had forcibly ejected the small invaders. He decided to take that as a sign that his body had purged it completely.

A pale medical curtain had been drawn across his side of the room. Nothing secured him to the railing of his bed- either his condition had been too perilous when he'd gotten in for them to bother or his suicide attempt hadn't been recognized as such. Frankly, it was a miracle anyone had found him in time, though in retrospect the teenaged girl at the front desk had seemed attentive to him in that pink way he'd resigned himself to and had offered to drop off any extra toiletries he'd needed. Given his incongruent-to-his-size weight, he'd probably made quite the racket when he'd hit the ground.

Ripping off the taped needles and the monitor clamped to his finger, Conner swung his legs over the side of the bed and groaned. His stomach ached with lingering, residual pain- a sensation he was becoming unwillingly familiar with- but he didn't have time to mope. Weakened infrared vision showed plenty of bodies darting back and forth in this part of the hospital. He didn't know when a nurse would be by to check on him and he didn't want to find out.

The monitor behind his bed listed his listed name as Don Canard. Good. They'd only found his fake ID, meaning the Justice League hadn't been notified. Dying in peace was harder with well-meaning spectators, he mused crankily to himself, ripping off his hospital bracelet.

He stooped, grabbing a plastic drawstring bag from the chair beside his bed: his personal effects. Listening to the low drone that had begun when he'd removed his heart rate monitor, he quickly replaced the hospital gown he'd been dressed in with his own clothing. Or at least, as much of it as he could find- everything was there except his shirt, likely covered in vomit and set aside somewhere if not outright cut off him when the paramedics arrived.

Damn. A shirtless man- teenager, really- leaving the hospital would raise questions. He'd have to steal something to wear before he left.

At least his wallet had been returned to his pocket, as well as his motel room key. All his cash. It was nice to find out his rescuers had all been honest.

Conner took another steadying breath. He wouldn't go back to the motel, he decided, dropping the key on the chair. It'd be memorable, returning after only hours after they'd called an ambulance for him. Not that he needed anything in his lone duffel bag anway. Just spare clothes, stuff like that- he wasn't dumb enough to bring a phone or communicator.

Escaping the emergency department took little time. Most of his life had been spent in covert ops, after all. Conner darted into the first open room with a sleeping patient and no visitors, snatched the blue plaid flannel shirt from the middle aged man's wardrobe (leaving a crinkled fifty dollar bill in its place), and strode down the hallway like he knew precisely where he was supposed to be going and was in a bit of a hurry to be there. (The only thing Conner made a priority was finding a drinking fountain- stat.) It didn't actually matter how quickly he found the exit, it didn't even matter if it was the nearest one, so long as he left the wing without being recognized as a patient. He got lost twice, exiting somewhere near the children's ward to find a bus stop conveniently located just outside the doors.

He didn't relax until the doors hissed shut behind him and the bus bounced gently away, the hospital receding in the distance behind them. It was sunset now. Fiery orange and purple swept across the sky like brushstrokes, framed by the craggy sandstone mountains and crumbling mesas. The window was cool against his forehead and he shut his eyes.

The driver had the station set to a smooth jazz station. Conner tuned most of it out but caught snatches as it transitioned from music to a talk-news hour. - _the_ _business world today,_ _CEO Lex Luthor of LexCorp just announced he will be stepping down from his duties immediately, citing long term health concerns. Official statements from the company support this claim, but insiders say that the fifty-one-year-old tycoon was forced out due to the many pending charges against the company for its alleged knowing involvement with the Reach's invasion plans. Superman was unavailable for comment, but_ -

Conner grimaced. Despite his exhaustion, he was in no actual danger of falling asleep here. The faint headache and the gnawing hunger never really seemed to go away, the fatigue pressing in on him from the sides promising him everything but sleep. It could have been worse, he tried to remind himself.

A pang in his chest contradicted that.

* * *

Bells chiming as he pushed open the door, Lex paused to study Conner from across the dingy roadside diner. His genetic legacy sprawled forward on a dented formica tabletop, head buried in the pillow of his arms, and surrounded by twice the amount of empty plates than Lex expected for a party of one. A lazy finger fiddled with his straw, making tiny swirls in the half finished orange soda. The only sign of life. He'd chosen the corner booth furthest from the door, far from the other two occupied tables. Perhaps it was the bars of sunlight slanting across the surface that held the real appeal for the semi-solar powered hybrid- he gave off the air of a bedraggled tomcat, posture discouraging helpful waitresses and passerbys alike while he basked.

A waitress with an ill-advised nose ring looked up from the till and asked Lex if he wanted a seat at the bar. He ignored her.

It was hard to tell from this distance, of course, but something in his posture suggested he was unwell. Hungover, he would have assumed in anyone for whom that was biologically possible.

Lex shoved down his prickle of unease.

"You know, son," he said conversationally, sliding onto the bench across from him. "If I'd known-"

"No." Conner's head shot up and shadowed, suspicious eyes glared at him. He pushed himself onto his elbows. "What do you want?"

Lex raised an eyebrow and grabbed a menu. "Initially? Just to talk. Now I'm considering pie."

"I don't want to talk to you," Conner said, glancing around as though expecting an army to pour through the dirt streaked windows that offered a rather unexciting view of what passed as Main Street in this backwater town. There were no threats to be found, of course. Lex had told Mercy to circle in the car and await his text. Otherwise, he'd come alone. Blue eyes narrowed on him. "I'm too tired to deal with you right now. How did you find me?"

Lex nearly pointed out the contradictory nature of those statements but decided not to belabor the point. Starting a conversation was the goal, after all.

He dropped the laminated menu on the table and crossed his legs."I'll admit it was a challenge. No one I spoke to knew where you were, but fortunately, LexCorp owns the most popular hospital data software in the country. I wasn't looking for you there, given your imperviousness to injury, but you tripped my passive alerts for "glowing green mineral" related admittances. Hospital security footage confirmed. Tracking you here was a matter of correlating bus routes." Lex drummed his fingers on the table and gave his kid a flat look. "Also, your fake ID is Donald Duck? Really?"

Conner rolled his eyes as the waitress came to their table, leaving promptly when all Lex ordered was coffee. "It's funny how many people's heads that goes over."

"Land of the monolinguals, yes." Lex studied him. "How did you come to ingest kryptonite in the first place?"

He had a guess, of course. Hospital analysis of Conner's vomit showed unusually high amounts of lead. Conner's sense of taste would have made that impossible to disguise and assassins weren't usually so considerate anyway. There were only so many logical conclusions.

"That's none of your business."

"Whose business is your suicide attempt, exactly?" Lex folded his arms and wrinkled his nose. Whatever had gone wrong in the boy's life to cause him to spiral like this, it was probably stupid. Lex was only occasionally a betting man, but his money had something to do with that Martian girl. "Superman's? The League? That's the same shirt you stole from the hospital. When was the last time you bothered to shower or glance in a mirror?"

"What do you want, Lex?" Conner demanded. A quick glance at the door clued Lex in to his offspring's intention to leave any second now. "I'm not going to play your stupid games. I know you've been kicked out of your own company, so I'm guessing either revenge or a power grab is what this boils down to. It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it."

Lex pressed his tongue against the inside of his teeth. He might as well get on with it, even if Conner's current condition gave him plenty to chew on.

The waitress returned with a white ceramic mug and a pot of brown sludge. He waited until she'd stepped away. "I'm not currently plotting anything, as I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear. No, my goals are far more personal. I was hoping for your… assistance."

Conner gave him a flinty stare.

Lex held up a hand. "Not your powers or anything like that. I'm dying."

A snort. "Get in line."

"Cancer," Lex went on. "Non hodgkin's lymphoma. I've had it before, only this time it's been exacerbated by keeping a kryptonite ring on my person at all times. I'm sure you can imagine why I thought that was a good idea."

A dry snort. "Self important paranoia? Extra-terrestrial xenophobia?"

"Unfortunately, it's proven a lot more resistant to treatment than my last bout," Lex continued. "Everything my doctors and I can throw at it has failed to stop it. Radiation. Chemotherapy. I even injected myself with my own modified stem cells. The most I've managed to do-" and here, Lex tugged aside the collar of his dress shirt, just enough to show Conner a glimpse of his green containment vest "-is slow it down, but that won't stop it from killing me eventually. I could have weeks. I could have years. Either way, I hate waiting. I'd rather have this fight on my own terms."

Conner set his jaw and looked away. "What has this got to do with me?"

Lex shrugged. "I've gone through several options, both actual and theoretical, and my greatest odds of success lie in more stem cell therapy. Donor cells this time, and relatives are the best match. While yours are half kryptonian, and thus fatal for me to inject directly, I believe that with enough processing-"

Conner laughed.

Ignoring Lex's cool glare, he tipped his head back and slumped against his seat, letting the sudden, jagged sound wind down of its own accord. Dark mirth stole across his face. "Oh, that's a shame. An ironic shame. You can't have any of mine."

"I'm willing to offer you-"

Conner shook his head. "Even if you talk me into it, they won't do you any good. They aren't doing me any good either. I'm dying too."

Lex's eyes narrowed. Forcibly relaxed his clenched fists. "Explain."

Conner rubbed his face. "Fuck off."

"It shouldn't be possible," Lex insisted, studying him. Perhaps his initial assumption of suicide had been incorrect. Had Conner somehow ingested a larger amount of kryptonite and it was still poisoning him? It seemed implausible, but so was the existence of the benevolent, all powerful alien turned he'd pilfered DNA from. Leave it to their combined offspring to be both ambitious and bizarre with his own problems. If that was the case, why was he wandering the desert alone instead of seeking medical treatment? "You should be immune to almost all disease and sickness. Your genome-"

Conner let out a harsh chuckle and leaned forward. "Well, that's the thing. You could say I'm dying from a bad case of being a clone. My DNA is degrading. I'm not absorbing solar radiation properly anymore. My powers have faded. I feel ill, weak, and in pain all of the time now."

Lex frowned. "What caused this? Apart from the idiot idea to snack on radioactive space rocks three days ago."

Conner grimaced. "Nothing. So far as the League's scanners can tell, this is a standard hybridization failure. Under normal pressure, my cells stopped replicating correctly after so many cycles. Eventually, my organs will shut down. American manufacturing these days, I guess."

Lex scowled. "Hybridization failure? Not possible. I sequenced and designed your genetic structure _personally_."

"Well, that explains it."

Lex crossed his arms, ignoring the jab. "What tests did they run? I want to see the full panel of results. This sounds like a misdiagnosis at best. 'Raging incompetence' is far more accurate, I suspect."

"I don't know and no." Conner scowled and rubbed his arm. "Doubt the best medical care in the world, sure, but you can't doubt my symptoms. My powers have dwindled. My cell cultures are a nightmare and my immune system is sinking faster than your career. Your ego's preference for terminology aside, I'm dying."

Lex shut his eyes. "How long do you have?"

"Half a year, but only when an optimist does the math." Connor took a sip of his soda.

"Then what are you doing here?" Lex demanded, jerking an accusing hand at the dusty town outside the large windows. The dilapidated bowling alley across the street had a blue and pink neon sign, half of which failed to illuminate. An actual tumbleweed chose that moment to drift across Main Street. "The League has access to some of the most advanced medicine on the planet, with at least sixteen different alien races represented. They confiscated enough of Cadmus's data on you to get a baseline- and I assure you our work was both extensive and thorough. I supervised every step of your creation, with exactingly detailed notes. Even were this a hybridization failure, unlikely as that is given the scope of my-"

"There's nothing they can do," Conner said, pressing his fingers gently over his eye sockets. Lex wasn't sure if he was merely exhausted or trying to block out his vision of him. "I'm welcome to all the treatment I want, but they can only partially alleviate my symptoms; perhaps even improvise a series of painful procedures that may do more harm than good for the sake of buying me a few weeks. It isn't a matter of altering the DNA of a few wayward cells- it's all of them. There's no cure, because there's nothing to fix. You just made me wrong."

" _I made you perfect_."

* * *

They stared at one another for a long moment; Conner exhausted and incredulous, Lex insistent and intense. It startled Conner, the vehemence with which his DNA doner said that with. He sincerely seemed to believe it.

Conner couldn't tell whether he should chalk it up to the man's narcissism or his arrogance, though he suspected it was at least in part desperation. An estranged-partial-alien-clone's stem cells couldn't be Lex's first option for alternative cancer treatment; probably right up there on the list with magic spells and fondling random lamps in the hope of stumbling upon a genie. The man was dressed as though his illness wore away at his wardrobe; instead of the impeccable suit and tie he'd favored before, he sat across from Conner in a white dress shirt with two buttons hanging loose to show the grazing neckline of the vest beneath, it's sleeves rolled up. A faint hint of stubble clung to his cheeks, coming in mostly gray. He seemed pale. Restless. Old.

Despite being a more prolific liar than Pinnochio, Conner didn't doubt Lex was telling the truth about having cancer.

There was a trace of poetic justice to the whole situation. Dr. Frankenstein and his monster dying in tandem. He didn't necessarily like it (no, wait, there was a vein of venomous glee), but he could appreciate it on an intellectual level.

Conner downed the rest of his soda. "Obviously not."

"I assure you, this issue did not start in your DNA. I made you-"

Wow. The man really could not admit he'd failed, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. It was almost fascinating, how massive Lex's ego had to be to eclipse the obvious. "-unable to fly or use heat vision or age?" Conner finished, propping his chin in his hand.

Lex glowered at him with envy-green eyes. "It's not my fault your so-called friends took you before you were finished incubating. What? Did you think we wanted to deal with a teenaged Superman? The limits imposed on your abilities by your human DNA were meant to erode with maturity; you weren't supposed to be operational until you were biologically twenty four. I didn't make you wrong, you're just…" he waved a hand, looking for the right term, "half-baked."

Conner sat back in his seat, widening his eyes. "Oh, I'm Half-Baked Superman? _Thank you_. That's so much better than Defective Superman or Watered Down Superman, or my previous personal favorite, Diet Superman. Promise me you'll make sure _they engrave that on my headstone_."

After a moment, Lex glanced away. Silence flowed between them. Conner was expecting the man to stand and storm out, but instead, he muttered, "Come with me."

"What?"

"Don't give me that. Your hearing is better than most dogs." Lex let out a heavy breath and shook his head, folding his hands together with a thoughtful frown. "Come stay with me. I'll ensure that you're comfortable while I run my own tests to suss out the root cause of your condition. Lord knows I need a project. You'll be no worse off than this, at any rate."

Conner stared at him like he'd revealed a lifelong desire to join the Justice League. "What, in our entire fucked up history together, made you think I would even consider saying yes?"

Lex shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, obviously just buying himself time to put his thoughts in order. "Several reasons. One, you have nothing to lose. Even if I am plotting something, which I'm not, you'll be dead soon anyway. Staying with me has to at least be comparable to swallowing kryptonite, and we both know you're willing to consider that. Two, I take it from the solo trip and fake ID that you've kept your friends in the dark about the situation, which suggests you've already decided not to spend your final time with them. Why is that, I wonder?"

Conner's jaw worked. He looked away without answering.

"At any rate, eventually someone is going to come looking for you or you'll collapse somewhere you're recognized. I imagine being returned to the League on death's door runs rather counter to your desires. Third, despite the League having the most extensive medical data on the planet, I have the most extensive knowledge regarding your biology specifically. If anyone can figure out the problem, much less have a hope of treating it, it's me." Lex's lips twisted. "Despite what you might think, my ousting from LexCorp's leadership has neither robbed me of all my resources nor influence. I have what I need to look into this. And fourth, I'm your father."

A bark of laughter ripped free of his throat before Conner could help it. Not that he tried hard.

Lex waved a vague hand. "You carry my genes, son. The basic tenets of biology require me to be invested in your continued survival-"

"You're not my father," Conner said, slamming his palms on the table.

The empty plates and silverware rattled, drawing the gaze of the other patrons. After a few seconds passed without follow up, they resumed their conversations at half volume.

"Oh, god, you're one of those." Lex crossed his arms, his eyes appealing to the ceiling for answers. "'Home is where the heart is'. 'Your true family is the one you choose.' No and no. A home is a building that's lived in; a family is a group of people with the misfortune to share DNA. Words have meanings. Concrete, linguistically agreed upon meanings. Why do idealists insist on trying to change them for the sake of feelings?"

"Because they're capable of having any?"

Lex gave him a patient, bland look. "Fifty percent of your DNA says I'm your father. Not wanting a relationship with me does not mean we don't have one. Things can be true and complicated at the same time. In particular, you seem to conflate good with meaningful. Regardless of how either of us feel about it, 'father' is an accurate word."

"Delusional might be a better one."

"Agree to disagree, Conner. Whatever baggage you've attached to the terminology, I was raised in an environment where contention and conflict merely flavored familial relationships: the very existence of any one member was the manifestation of an old vendetta against another. If anything, your constant attempts to disown me do more to convince me of your paternity than you think- I essentially did the same at your age. Anyone who says family isn't complicated is either a liar or under the age of ten, and yes, that does mean you have another four years at least before I hold it against you."

And Lex had the nerve to criticize him about baggage. Christ.

There was too much to unpack in so few sentences, so Conner opted for appalled silence.

Lex held up his final pinky finger. "And fifth on my list of reasons, is that you already know what I want: to save my own life. Your stem cells would have to be healthy for me to even begin and since I haven't yet discovered how they'll help me, I need a living source. Curing you gets me one step closer to that, so if you can't trust my good intentions, you can trust my self-preservation."

"Trust you to be an asshole, you mean."

"Consistency is king, son."

Conner let out a low chuckle. "You're a piece of work, you know that?" He slumped forward over his crossed arms again, mind racing.

It would be so easy to tell Lex to fuck off. Of course, that would mean resigning himself to either swallowing more kryptonite or more aimless wandering while he waited to die.

(That didn't help Lex's case as much as he probably thought it would.)

Something like hope flickered dully in his chest. Maybe it was a new form of resignation, but Conner found himself actually considering Lex's proposition. His first point had been on the money, to give credit where it was due: Conner had little to lose, even if he trusted Lex less than a Nigerian prince who swore he could only communicate via email. And there was an admittedly small chance that Lex would succeed in curing him; statistically unlikely, but enough to make his heart leap a little.

Besides, Lex's presented motivations were the only ones that fit: Conner was too ill and weak to be of any use to the man as a soldier even under mind control, even less as a test subject, and by that note, a bad ransom candidate if Lex wanted to leverage Conner's life against the Justice League. Idealism and loyalty aside, there was only so much they could do on behalf of someone who was dying anyway.

Frankly, if Lex wanted to use him as a prop for his mid-life-crisis/cancer scare, it might not kill Conner to go along with it. It would be nice to offload some of his problems for a bit. The man's company couldn't be quite as bad as swallowing kryptonite again (close, but not quite, the optimist inside him dared to posit) and it had been luck that Conner had found any in the first place.

It wasn't like he could try again. Killing himself wasn't even an option.

And that left Lex.

Conner covered his face with his hands and let out a disgusted groan. If anything, Lex _should_ take responsibility for this entire mess; not only had he made him out of his shitty DNA and breathed life into something that should never exist, he'd made him _wrong_.

While Conner had serious reservations about burdening anyone he cared about with his end-of-life care, those qualms certainly didn't extend to his Mean Science Dad.

"Fine."

Lex canted his head slightly, brows furrowing. "Fine, I'm your father, or fine, you'll come with me?"

"Both, I guess." A fluttery sigh. "Fuck it, I'm too tired for this. I'm too tired for everything. I don't care anymore." Conner pushed himself back up to a half sitting position. "Just promise me that if you're going to kill me, you'll make it fast and that I won't see it coming. Don't be a dick about it. No monologuing. Not even a short speech. I want instantaneous murder."

Lex snorted and texted something on the phone he pulled from his pocket, signalling for the check. "I don't like this vague suicide ideation, Conner. That's not how the men in our family do things. You're supposed to shove down all your existential dread into the place your soul should be and channel it into spite, megalomania, and alcoholism."

"Wonderful," Conner grumbled, rubbing his face as he stood behind Lex. "Another legacy to disappoint."


	2. Chapter 2

"Is that heroin?" Conner asked, staring at the small plastic bag Mercy handed Lex as they stepped into the enormous main living area of the cabin. The main room was easily as big as the zeta-tube/training room at Mount Justice, backed by a wide, polished wet bar/serving counter that wrapped around a large sitting area. A hulking, three story stonework fireplace took up most of the west wall, before which a large glass coffee table stood between sprawling sofas.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lex sniffed, tapping a line of white powder onto the glass surface of said coffee table. Mercy handed him something cylindrical, which he used to neatly snort the line. "It's cocaine. Why? Did you want some?"

This had been a mistake. A highly-telegraphed, obvious mistake.

(He couldn't even blame Lex: the man had been waving more red flags than a Soviet parade.)

As tempted as he was to march right back out the door, the five hour drive here weighed heavily on him. Conner sighed and dropped his duffel bag on the floor, rubbing his neck (Lex had recovered it from the motel on his way to the diner). "Of course it is." He jerked a head at the second level hallway, open air and perched above the bar. "Bedrooms up there?"

Lex waved a hand. "Mercy will put your luggage away. We should get started."

Conner gave him a flat look. "As much as I'm sure that coke did wonders for your energy levels, mine aren't so great these days. The sun's down. I'm going to sleep."

Lex shrugged, handing the baggie back to Mercy. "I need a few things from you to begin the analysis, most of which will run while we sleep. Nothing invasive or painful. Should only take a few hours. I'd hate to waste time tomorrow on unavoidable preliminary work, rather than diving in. This is the dull part of troubleshooting."

Conner glanced between the large, polished wood clock hanging above the fireplace and the staircase to the second level. Sighed. Let Mercy take his bag. "Fine. What do you need from me?"

He followed Lex as he led him behind the bar and into the swinging door of the large kitchen beyond. Stainless steel and chrome everything glinted dully in the artificial light, the windowless room offering no insight to the world outside. Lex strode confidently to an enormous set of refrigerators and pressed a button inset on the handle. The entire appliance slid away to reveal the sterile white entrance to a secret lab.

"Why am I not surprised?" Conner muttered, following him in.

Lex snorted and flicked on the lights to reveal a medium sized lab space. Most of the counters and machines were covered in dust clothes, which Lex began to remove as he passed. "Believe it or not, this place was built for corporate retreats, not criminal activity. This is far from my largest or best outfitted lab. I simply take precautions to ensure I have options, should I find myself... indisposed."

"On the run, you mean." Conner turned in a slow circle, studying the machines. Fairly standard fare, for what he knew of labs. Multi-purpose equipment. In fact, none of this was even specifically tailored for genetics- Lex's low conversation with Mercy about discrete equipment requisition suddenly made more sense. "This is a bolt house. Or lab, rather. How often do you find yourself indisposed?"

"Often enough," Lex said easily. They stopped in front of a machine as Lex hit a series of switches to power it up. Apart from the controls and monitor, it was like a wide, clear cylinder with a small hallway through the middle for someone to step into while the machine rotated around them. Conner had seen similar in airports. "Step in. This part should only take five minutes."

With a wary glance at the interior (not that he'd expected a spinning kryptonite saw blade to descend from the depths of the machine), Conner complied, irritably noting that Lex was still taller than him as he did (with most people he didn't notice at his respectable 5'8" but Lex was at least six feet tall). The machine whirred, it's internal arms waving as he felt the prickle of low level radiation, magnetic spectrums, and light slide across his body. "Then what?"

"Then, we let the computer do it's initial processing. It won't finish combing through all of the data until morning, but it should only take an hour to give us additional diagnostic test recommendations based on which organ systems it thinks are most likely the sources of failure. Saves us the time of investigating every symptom. I want to check the results before either of us sleep, in case it recommends something we can test now."

Conner glanced pointedly at the equipment. "As opposed to?"

"Well, I don't have any kryptonite infused scalpels or blood draws," Lex said, tapping absently at the protruding keyboard. Squinted at the screen. "Which rules out blood tests and most biopsies. We'll probably end up testing everything eventually, just to be certain. I'd still like to focus the bulk of my efforts on the most promising avenues."

Nodding, Conner shut his eyes as the machine danced around him. His vision couldn't really see any of the processes the machine was undergoing, but he could feel them against his skin and hear the shape of them as they mapped him. Ripples echoed through him. Despite the millions of dollars of R&D that no doubt comprised the machine, it was reassuringly primitive: the scanners at the Watchtower had been so advanced, he couldn't tell what they were doing as a single cooling, prickling sensation slid down his skin. This one gave him more tactile feedback.

Lex hit another key. "That should do it." Conner opened his eyes to see Lex pull a tablet free from a small cradle built into the monitor. "Let's go upstairs. I want a full list of your symptoms."

* * *

Mercy had lit a modest, but blazing fire in the hearth, radiating gentle heat throughout the room. Conner found himself picking the seat on the couch that was closest. It was probably just in his head, but he found himself a little more aware of the chill, even if he wasn't exactly cold.

The soft clink of glass against the bartop drew his gaze back to where Lex was unscrewing a bottle of something amber colored. "You sure you should be drinking?"

"That's the thing about scotch," Lex said, pouring a finger's worth into two glasses. "It pairs nicely with everything. Chocolate. Cocaine. Chemotherapy."

Conner raised his eyebrows. "That a fact?"

"Trust me, I'm a doctor."

"Of engineering and technology," Conner pointed out, taking the drink Lex thrust at him and staring at it. "And you realize that you engineered me with a permanent child lock mode, in more ways than one. Alcohol doesn't affect me."

"I suppose that's one vice you can safely avoid then." Lex settled on the couch across from him, setting the bottle on the table nearest to himself. "And how do you know what my doctorates are in?"

"The G-gnomes instilled basic information of all Cadmus' board of directors, as well as political figures, heroes, and anyone else deemed internationally significant."

Lex took a neat swallow and glanced down at his tablet screen. "That's right. How has your implanted knowledge held up?"

"Why? You think it might be a symptom?"

"It could be, but mostly I'm just curious."

Conner shrugged and took a sip, feeling his lips twist. Yeah. He still hated the taste of alcohol even if it didn't burn his taste buds. "It's fine. It's all still there, just harder to access lately. Through the headaches. And the tiredness. And sometimes pain."

"Let's start there. Tell me all your symptoms, how often or when you have them, and roughly when they began."

Conner took a slow breath. Talking about this felt like showing his neck to a predator, but it couldn't be avoided. It was, after all, the entire reason he was here. "The biggest one is tiredness. I'm exhausted all of the time, no matter how much I sleep or lie out in the sun. It's worse if I don't sunbathe daily, but it never gets better. That's been going on for three or four months. I also noticed my powers declining. I was slower and less powerful in training. My senses clouded. That started up shortly after the tiredness."

Lex glanced up at him from where he was diligently tapping all this into his tablet with a stylus he'd produced from somewhere. "Are there any records which might shed light on what days each symptom began? It would be helpful to know which are primary, and which are secondary." At Conner's raised brow, Lex clarified, "For instance, insomnia is a primary symptom, while fatigue is often a secondary one. It's a consequence of the first."

"No, I don't keep a journal or anything like that." Conner took another pensive sip of his drink, mostly for the sake of something to do with his hands. "And I don't know the exact dates. Most of my symptoms started up within a few weeks of each other. They've just all gotten worse over time."

"When did you go to the Watchtower for testing?"

"About two months ago. I was training with Canary and got thrown to the mat. Initially, I didn't think anything of it. It isn't remotely unusual for her to get the drop on me even at my normal speeds," he clarified to Lex's raised brow. "but this time it stung. Not even bullets do, normally. My back was covered in bruises. They faded within twenty four hours, but again, it had never happened before."

"There's a one to two month gap between you getting treatment and the symptoms starting. You're supposed to be invulnerable. Why didn't you go in right away?" Lex asked, voice devoid of anything beyond mild interest.

That didn't stop Conner from scowling into his glass as though he'd been criticized anyway. "A lot was going on. Missions. The Reach. Then Wally died." He swallowed around a suddenly dry throat, looking out the large floor to ceiling windows lining the cabin at the dark silhouette of trees along the slopes. "I thought I was just grieving. Psychosomatic. Then I saw the bruises and realized it couldn't all be in my head."

"You mentioned headaches and pain."

"Those are newer," Conner admitted, setting the rest of his drink on the coffee table. "Last few weeks or so? A dull pressure. Aches all over my body. They're… unpleasant, but I don't think severe." He hesitated. "Pain is difficult for me to rate. I don't have much to compare it to. Not at this level, anyway."

"Anything else new? Things that have never happened before?"

"Well, I vomited for the first time the other day," Conner said dryly. "That was gross. And weird. Do people really do that?"

"Yes. It's as horrid as you think. That'll teach you not to ingest poison."

"I'll take that under advisement from Dr. Coke and Scotch." Conner watched Lex tap at the tablet screen for a few more minutes. Glanced around the mansion-sized interior, at the polished wood beams of the sloped three story ceiling, precision stonework crawling the walls. Lex had called it a cabin, but this was more akin to a small resort aside from being empty; he half expected a mint on his pillow. He looked back at Lex. "Do you really believe you can cure me?"

Lex paused, but didn't look up from the screen. "I hope so."

"The Justice League couldn't," Conner pointed out. Lex didn't answer, so he went on. "Even if you succeed, do you think you'll be able to develop my stem cells into something you can use? That's a lot of time to find out if your hypothesis is false."

"You'd be surprised at how much time and money I've sunk into less," Lex told him, setting aside his tablet. "Besides, this isn't strictly about saving myself. It's about securing my legacy."

Conner felt his lip curl. "Your whole father thing."

"That's right."

"Are you this attached to all the clones you grow?"

"Only the one who actually counts as my offspring," Lex said, seemingly unaffected by Conner's tone. "To call you a clone is a misnomer. Cloning technology was used to create you, yes, but you are by no means a duplicate."

"Don't twist the truth. LexCorp can rebrand it's failures, but you can't. I was created to replace or eliminate Superman. My sole purpose. You don't get credit for making me a bad copy."

"And our actual copy was an uncontrollable lunatic, so we took a different approach with you. Match is a clone. His DNA is exactly the same as Superman's but yours is recombinated; you merely look near-identical because Kryptonian paternal phenotypical gene expression is like that. Kal-El, no doubt, looks equally similar to his alien father. You share more in common with the test tube babies produced by fertility clinics than Dolly the Sheep, apart from the use of an alien doner, forced growth, and psychically implanted knowledge."

That… was a new take. Conner frowned. "So what would you call me, if not clone?"

Lex rolled his eyes. "There's no other word yet, so linguistically we must get descriptive if we wish to include some reference to your artificial origins." He shrugged, turning his empty glass in his hand. "'Test tube baby' works. 'Weird science progeny', too, I suppose. I prefer 'son'. Call me old fashioned."

Conner pressed his lips together. "Have it your way. I can't be your legacy if I can't outlast you."

Lex gave him a thin smile. "Exactly. The passing of genes to the next generation, however trite, is the only form of immortality that we humans possess. Believe me, I've looked into other means: I can't prevent my death entirely, but I can control what I leave behind. My name is already being pried off of buildings and libraries as we speak. LexCorp itself is considering a full rebranding. A few decades after my death, the only thing left of me will be a footnote in history." He canted his head, clutching his glass and pointing at Conner past the rim. "Unless I cure you."

"You realize that by your definition, I'm Superman's legacy too."

Not for long, but still.

Lex smirked. "Oh, I know it." He chuckled a bit at Conner's expression. "Believe it or not, I've quite resigned myself to his existence. That certainly doesn't stop me from despising him personally and everything he represents. Taking him down a peg is still a treasured hobby of mine." A wolfish grin stretched across his face. "If anything, tying together our genetic legacies is the ultimate power move. I'm still quite smug. His stupid genes made him the most powerful person on the planet, and now I've put them to work ensuring the survival of my own. History cannot omit me from his story."

Conner groaned, staring at his drink and wishing it could actually get him drunk. "So that makes me what? A spite baby?"

"Indeed, son. Which makes you a proper Luthor, if anything."

"You did mention the whole 'children as living vendettas' thing." He sighed and leaned back on the couch. Glanced at the clock. "We've got maybe ten minutes left before those results are done. Give me the sparknotes version, then."

"Of what?"

"Of being a Luthor."

That got a surprised chuckle out of the man. "That's quite a challenge. It's a tangled ball of rancor and revenge. Each generation has more than enough material for its own Shakespearen play, but I'll do my best. What do you already know?"

"About your family? Nothing. All I know about you amounts to a summary of your accomplishments and the rest I picked up from the League."

"Excellent. I won't have to correct the many lies then." Lex poured himself another drink. "To begin with, like most family trees, the official one should be approached with mild skepticism. Listed relationships are rarely accurate."

Didn't he know it. Conner ignored the clench in his chest as he wondered if Clark had listed him as his brother in any of the records the League kept. If he'd even bothered.

"In my case, my birth certificate lists my father as Lionel Luther and my mother as Letitia Luthor, nee Morrison." Lex shrugged. "Now, while she is the woman I called mother, we had no actual connection beyond mutual annoyance at my father for sleeping with the maid that gave birth to me. Not only was Letitia stuck raising me, but he forced her to live at a distant estate for six months to support the deception that I was hers. You know, in a complete betrayal of the unspoken agreement among the wealthy of the era."

Conner almost didn't want to know. "Unspoken agreement?"

"To not claim bastards," Lex explained. "Infidelity was both expected and planned for. Marriage came with three guarantees for a woman: all of her husband's social power, his financial support, and the security of inheritance for her children. Sure, it was sometimes permissible to write them a check or two, but bastards weren't supposed to be part of the family. They didn't count. A dirty little secret wasn't supposed to be your heir." Lex shrugged and narrowed his eyes in distant thought. "I can't quite recall what she'd done that he was getting payback for with that move. Something to do with her father's oil stocks? No. That was later, I think… It'll come to me. "

"Jesus." They were less than a minute in, and Conner regretted asking about his human heritage already.

"My father, Lionel, was a bastard son too, only his father died without any other heirs so he got the mining company. I suspect he thought he was doing right by me, rather than wrong by Letitia." Lex crossed his legs, settling back into his seat and warming up to the recounting. "But I certainly wouldn't want to imply that she was a fragile victim. I'd consider her a formidable opponent: I might have been my father's chess piece, but it didn't take long for her to produce her own. My sister, Lena, and I might not have gotten along when we were young, but at least we were united in the pressure we faced to succeed. Your aunt was smart, smarter than me at the time, and Mother hoped to displace me as heir. Of course, Father didn't care. Thought competition was healthy. We were both in our twenties before Letitia realized that his combination of sexism and spite meant that's all Lena was allowed to be: healthy competition for me. It didn't matter how brilliant she was, how qualified; I would get the company regardless."

There was a pause, but Conner really couldn't think of anything to say.

"At any rate, I think that's when Letitia decided to kill my father and I." Lex considered his glass. "It's really quite brilliant, how she did it. Full points for creativity. Like something out of a murder mystery. I mean, I always suspected her of giving my father cancer, but now I look back and think she was probably responsible for mine too. Perfect, right? Murder disguised as a natural, inheritable disease. I'm certain she was sneaking chemicals in our coffee. Must have taken years."

Conner cast a skeptical glance at his mostly full scotch glass and decided against touching it for the rest of the night. He pretended not to hear Lex's soft snort. "What happened to her?"

"Barbiturate overdose. Very Marilyn Monroe." Lex waved a hand and rolled his eyes at Conner's expression. "She had her own problems. I didn't care then and I don't now. Something about a lover breaking things off with her? Her own mother dying? Menopause? Something. She passed during my last round of chemo. I vomited in an urn during the service. I should have vomited in hers, to be honest. She nearly won."

"The inheritance?" Conner asked.

"No, Father's will was ironclad. I got better quickly, but that was back in the eighties when all cancer treatment was worse than the disease. Chemotherapy and radiation at levels unthinkable now. It left me more or less sterile. Or perhaps she snuck something in the coffee for that too- I would certainly not put it past her. Either way," Lex's face creased, though he made an effort to force it smooth. "She might not have taken me out, but she nearly ensured that Luthors' future lay entirely with Lena. There's layers to how smug I am that you exist, you see. You represent an utterly spectacular convergence of my revenge on so many people. I couldn't possibly let you die."

It was Conner's turn to roll his eyes. "Love you too, Dad," he grumbled, with no small amount of salt. Surrendered to the stab of curiosity. "How many people?"

Lex blew out a sharp breath past his lips. "Oh, I don't know. At least thirteen." Conner choked. Lex seemed not to notice. "My mother and Superman, as I've mentioned. My maternal grandfather, bless his soul. A nanny I didn't like. My doctoral advisor and a dean- different universities, though. At least three former cell mates-"

"Never mind. What happened to Lena?"

"She's alive," Lex said, glancing down at the bottle of liquor like he was considering pouring himself another glass. Visibly decided against it. "Technically. Persistent vegetative state. If you'd like, I'll take you to visit her sometime, though she won't know we're there. We actually got along great after our parents died, but life is full of cruel twists. She was injured in a lab explosion."

Conner gave him a flat, disbelieving stare.

"I know what it sounds like," Lex snapped, holding up a palm. "But it wasn't me. I had nothing to gain from her death- the will left her next to nothing. As I said, once our parents croaked, we realized we had more in common than we thought. Shared genius aside, Lena was never going to be CEO. She inherited our father's lack of people skills, to put it kindly, and her strengths were all in engineering so I made her head of R&D. Perhaps I shouldn't have, considering what happened later, but at the time it seemed like a win-win. She was pleased to dodge the endless meetings and negotiations, I was pleased with the tech she was pioneering. LexCorp still uses some of her core designs today."

"How long ago was it?"

"Twenty years." Lex waved a hand. "I know I should have pulled the plug on her ages ago, but if anyone's mind is sharp enough to find it's way back from the abyss, it's a Luthor's. That's what we've got going for us. The only thing, really, apart from stubborness. If all it takes is a monthly check to a care home for the off chance that she wakes, well, then that's nothing." He gave Conner an incalculable look. "Just because I don't make a habit of being sentimental doesn't mean I'm entirely incapable. Today is a case in point. Now, it's time to go check on that machine."

"Please," Conner said, standing. "I didn't think my existential despair could grow, but in the span of one conversation, you've proved me wrong. Color me begrudgingly impressed."

"I'll consider it an achievement." Lex pointedly grabbed Conner's leftover scotch and downed it with a flourish, in a show of it's poison free status. Conner fought the urge to roll his eyes and followed.


	3. Chapter 3

Firs, pines, and aspen trees flanked the rocky slopes on either side of the cabin. Tucked neatly in a canyon between two high-altitude Great Basin mountains somewhere in Nevada, it walked the line between remote and impractical. Several other properties dotted the landscape nearby, mostly rentals, according to Lex, since apparently they weren't far from a state park with a reservoir. There was a medium sized town by the interstate, but most communities in the area weren't big enough to warrant more than a few stoplights, much less cameras.

It was perfect for anyone not looking to be found. Secure.

To call it a cabin, though, was like calling Mount Justice a clubhouse; it stretched the limits of definition to an almost insulting degree. Polished timber and glass had been melded in a starkly minimalist and wholly unnatural architecture that seemed to cut the sky with it's sloped roof. The interior was huge, at least 6,500 square feet. Ten separate bedrooms, not counting a convertible bunk room in the game area that could hold a dozen more. Jetted tubs and heated tiles in every bathroom. A small theatre next to a game room that also doubled as a library.

Conner could have easily avoided seeing the other two residents of the cabin; they had more than enough space to accomplish that. He didn't actually try.

Three days passed at a crawl, slowed by boredom and loneliness. Apart from meals and tests, Lex preferred to stay in his lab during daylight hours. Mercy was ever present, doing everything from cleaning to cooking to managing Lex's emails, though the android wasn't remotely inclined to converse the way Red Tornado was. Conner found himself turning the TV on for the sake of creating noise; without it, the echo of his own footsteps were the only signs of life in the damn place. Entertaining himself was easy- there were a lot of books and Conner had unrestricted access to the internet- but the social isolation gnawed at him in a way it hadn't on the road.

"You are actively losing your mind, aren't you?" Lex asked from somewhere behind him. Conner opened his eyes, turning to see Lex at the bar pouring himself a liquid lunch. The man raised his eyebrows, popping a martini olive into his glass like a nail into a coffin. "Three days. You made it three days before getting cabin fever. Your mental fortitude is appalling."

Conner scowled. He sat cross legged on the carpet by the sofa cluster with a TV. In front of him, the channel spat white noise at the room. "It's day four, and no. I do this to relax."

Lex wrinkled his nose as he sipped his glass, then added another splash of gin. Despite the fact that it was past noon, he was still dressed in rumpled pajamas and a bathrobe. "Like people who listen to rainforest noises to meditate? I didn't take you for quite such a crunchy granola type. Maybe the plaid shirts and Timberlands should have tipped me off."

Dragging himself to his feet and past Lex at the bar, Conner dug around in the small mini fridge under the counter where Mercy had begun stocking energy drinks for him. He wasn't sure if she knew they wouldn't work, but he appreciated the gesture "They're military boots. If it bothers you so much, maybe design a kid with fashion sense next time, D-" Conner shut his mouth with a click.

Lex's look was damn near predatory. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

"No, you were going to call me something." Lex took a delicate sip of his drink. "Dad, I believe. You nearly called me Dad."

"You're hearing things." Conner glowered and gestured to the screen with the can in a less than subtle bid to shift the conversation. "And no, it's not just background noise. There's… shapes."

Lex's eyes hadn't lost that satisfied gleam, but he went along. That didn't stop Conner from grumpily feeling like he'd lost some debate anyway. "That's called snow. Or 'ant football' in Hungarian. We have real sports channels, you know; though, I must warn you that I will judge you if you watch them."

Conner scowled. He had no doubt about that. His background noise of nineties sitcoms had already come under fire. "No, I mean, I can hear the shapes. The other sounds buried in the static."

There was a pause. "Your hearing is sensitive enough to hyperfocus on electromagnetic interference, maybe outright radiation, and apply some sort of visualization to the sensation." Lex's long look seemed to dissect like a science class frog as Conner took a swig of energy drink. "How long?"

"Always." Conner hesitated, staring at the little pool of liquid on the lip of the can. "My hearing isn't very good lately, but the TV amplifies it so I can still hear most of it. It's nice. Like it used to be."

"A quirk of your regular powers then," Lex decided, evidently less interested since it wasn't a symptom and thus, not a piece of his latest puzzle. "We can test the nuances of that when you've recovered, if you'd like."

"If I recover, you mean."

"I don't fail."

"Sure you don't. You just toss any fights with big blue boyscouts for fun, right?" Conner went back to the couch, swearing as the TV screen darkened. Again. He snatched up the remote. "Damn it. It timed out again. Is there a setting for that?"

"I'll have Mercy look into it."

Something hard and metallic smacked into his shoulder. He twisted, looking down at the keys that clattered to the floor, and gave Lex a withering glance. "What?"

"Your reflexes are shot," Lex said. "As is your object recognition, apparently." At Conner's unchanged expression, he added, "I had Mercy bring a second car. You're not a prisoner, so go entertain yourself before you start carving haikus or something equally droll into my walls."

"Not my thing." Conner snatched the keys off the floor. "I took sculpture."

Conner was confident that somewhere in Atlanta, there was a middle aged choir director with an enormous hat who wanted her judgey expression back. Lex barely seemed able to pry his lips apart to speak. "And that is your thing?"

"It was fine for my fine arts requirement."

Lex half-heartedly toasted him. "Bringing us to yet another questionable decision of yours. Why study history? Technically, Liberal Arts is the most useless degree, but aiming for the second on that list of majors is not much better-"

Conner stiffened. "How do you know I studied history?"

How Lex found out was beyond the problem, at the moment. More important was how much did Lex know ? If he knew Conner's degree, he knew which University he'd been attending, and thus probably his full name and registered address. That meant Martian Manhunter's cover was likely blown too, given that he was Conner's legal guardian and emergency contact until he'd turned "eighteen", as well as M'gann's...

"Oh, relax," Lex said, leaning back against the bar and assessing his thought process in a glance. "I've kept tabs. What kind of evil scientist of a father do you think I am?"

"The Doctor Frankenstein kind," Conner snapped.

Kent was a fairly common last name, but even the slightest risk to Superman's secret identity was gut clenchingly bad. He'd already been hoping to die before speaking to Clark again, but if Lex had discovered him, had discovered Ma and Pa, he-

"Dr. Frankenstein was an imbecile who spent the rest of his miserable life trying to dodge his responsibilities to his offspring, taking more and more drastic measures until it killed him," Lex drawled. "That sounds more like your and Clark's relationship than ours, doesn't it?"

Lex's shirt fisted in his hands before Conner consciously realized he must have used a burst of super speed to make it over there so fast. He shoved Lex up against the tile wall behind the counter, ignoring his grunt.

"You're overreacting," Lex informed him, eyes narrowing. He didn't make an effort to free himself. Maybe he was already drunk. Or high. Or both. It would explain his utter lack of self-preservation. "I've known his legal identity for over a decade. What? Did you think I made a kid with someone whose name I didn't even know? What kind of man do you take me for?"

His offspring of highly dubious cloning ethics and stolen alien DNA didn't dignify that with an answer.

"Aside from that, it wasn't exactly a secret that his reception of you was dismal. Leaguers gossip just like everyone else. Even the criminal underworld got a chance around the water cooler to condemn him for acting like such a deadbeat."

Conner's mind spun in horrified, humiliated circles. "Wait. Everyone knows he didn't want me?"

"Everyone who knows that you exist, yes." Lex reached around Conner's grip and patted his arm. Whether it was meant as a comforting gesture or an instruction to release him was unclear, though Conner eased up anyway. His arms were starting to ache, even through the adrenaline. He was a little tempted to resume the hold when he realized letting Lex down called attention to the sharp contrast in their heights in some kind of cruel insult to injury. "If it's any consolation, Superman gets all the derision and you the sympathy. Even villains have children; most aren't in favor of abandoning them. Sportsmaster, in particular, had quite a soapbox on the topic."

"Seriously?" Conner's brain wasn't working. Wasn't processing right.

"I know you probably didn't get the best impression of him as a parent through his daughter, but he never refused to acknowledge that she was his. I got the impression he sent money to her mother regularly, even if she refused to take it most of the time."

Wait. "You said everyone knows. Do they know that Clark is…"

"Superman's alter ego? God, no. Well, I haven't told most of them." He glanced at Conner's face and rolled his eyes. "The advantages of maintaining my silence outweigh the benefits of shouting it from the rooftops. It's handy to keep track of his comings and goings while not in cape. I get a copy of his lease agreement before he does, on average. Otherwise, leveraging his human parents invites his direct intervention. Not only is that typically more trouble than it's worth, but also rather defeats the purpose of knowing about the Kents if anyone can murder them and ruin the option for me. Outing his human self would also preclude him from working a standard 9-5 schedule, and I like the predictability."

Conner bit the inside of his cheek, studying Lex's face for any hint of deception. Released him entirely to fold his arms. "Does he know that you know?"

Lex snorted. "Of course he does. How do you think I tested the viability of threatening his parents?" He raised a placating hand at Conner's sudden flare. "Just threats. Relax. Now that they're your grandparents, I have even more reason to leave them be. Doing anything else might require I go to Kansas. Kryptonite cancer I can take, but that might just kill me."

Conner glared down at the floor and stepped away, unwilling to offer Lex an opportunity to add fuel to the fire. Hurt pooled in his stomach like lava, burning him with the rage that simmered just below. Clark knew that Lex Luthor knew his secret identity and had for years? Had never seen fit to mention that fact?

Everything felt twisted in knots and threatening, like those first couple of months out of his pod when he was all alone and anger was the only thing that gave him control. Resentment was nothing new to him, but this…. he'd thought he'd gotten over it when Clark decided to let him be a part of his life.

As it turned out, there was quite the backlog.

To think, how happy he'd felt when Clark revealed his name to him, at the sign of immense trust and acceptance. To think, that Conner had listened attentively to the endless warnings about what could happen if he let anything slip, even half a consonant, to the point that Clark wouldn't let Conner call him by his human name for two years afterwards. To think, how he'd swallowed his shock to find out that Clark had a human family after being mentored by him for two and a half years, how stupid he felt to have assumed that Clark was like J'onn; arriving on this planet as an adult and maintaining a civilian identity for various reasons, but ultimately all alone like Conner. To think, how guilty and small he'd felt after taking the Team to shelter at the Kent farm (not even in the house) for just a few hours, because they needed a place to hide where no one would betray them. Clark had carried on and on about what a risk that had been to Ma and Pa, how he knew Conner didn't mean to expose them to danger, but how disappointed he was that Conner hadn't thought things through and considered it as though they were actually his parents- like Conner hadn't been trying to comply with Clark's decree that they be his parents instead of him.

He was going to hit something. If he didn't get out of here right now, it would be Lex.

Conner whirled on his feet and barreled for the door, fingers scrabbling for the keys in his pocket.

Lex, apparently, had entirely lost his ability to read body language, based off the sounds of him following him to the door. "Conner, wait a minute. I didn't mean…. You… I'll need more samples in order to-"

"Do them when I get back," Conner snarled over his shoulder. "Leave me alone."

It wasn't until he was in the car- a mud spattered late model jeep that wouldn't look entirely out of place in the area- trying diligently not to bend the steering wheel (if he even could anymore), that Conner realized what that final expression he'd seen on Lex's face was.

Relief. Because Conner had promised to come back.

He rested his forehead against the steering wheel, breath leveling with a strange sort of pause. Lex might be a narcissistic wannabe-dictator who'd grown him in a lab out of spite and a desire for more power, but at least he wanted him. Mostly to further his own agenda, but enough to try and persuade him to stay.

Even if Lex's motivations were selfish, it wasn't… nothing.

It should be nothing, but it wasn't and Conner didn't know what to do with that so he turned on the car and drove away, hyper aware of Lex watching him go.

* * *

Conner descended the steps to the lab below, wincing a little at the artificial light radiating from the lightbulbs above. It was strange, all the things that could give him headaches now. Not to mention, being able to get headaches in the first place.

Speaking of human sized headaches….

Lex paced in front of his workspace, cell phone pressed almost languidly to his ear. He spotted Conner and waved an acknowledging finger. "I don't care what Schumarker wants, I want those samples and reagents tonight. Yes, especially the minerals. I don't- no, you listen to me- I don't give a damn about the paper trail. You're a big boy, make something up. Mercy will be there tonight and if they aren't ready, I will reign a hell down on you that will make Schumarker's snit look like a temper tantrum. Get it done." He stabbed the screen and dropped the phone on the table.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Conner sighed. "Ruining someone's life for fun and for profit?"

Lex snorted. "Don't feel too bad for Nigel, son. The amount of sealed records surrounding his fraternity years suggest he either raped someone or hazed someone to death or both. What did you want?"

Conner dangled the keys from his hand. "Going into town. Want anything?"

"Unless you happen to see a HPLC UV Detector with variable wavelengths, no." Lex turned back to his work station. It was built up of a series of clear screens and panels that had data projected on to their surfaces, much like the ones the Justice League used. Conner wondered briefly if they got them from the same vendor. Lex squinted at one of the screens, before tapping at it to expand. "Though I wouldn't say no to another bag of those dill chips."

"I'll see if they have any," Conner said. He watched Lex scowl at whatever it was he was looking at. By silent agreement, neither of them ever mentioned Conner's storming out a few nights ago and had quickly resumed their old routine, punctuated by Conner driving into town every other day on mostly invented errands. It was nice to be somewhere with people noise- a habit he'd no doubt gotten used to from the constant coming and goings of Mount Justice- which meant that every so often, Conner would find himself wandering down to the labs out of boredom, if only to listen to Lex mutter threats under his breath at the machines. "Anything interesting?"

Lex glanced up from where he was glowering at his results. "Nothing particularly helpful, just surprising." He pushed the screen to the side, so Conner could see it better. On it, a close up of cells, colored hot red to iridescent green like a heat map, offset by flares of purple. "I've confirmed your stem cells aren't viable."

Conner snorted. "I could have told you that. Oh, wait: I did."

Lex scowled. "Yes, your episkevi stem cells-"

"My what?" Conner's eyes narrowed. His Cadmus programming had included a basic understanding of anatomy, but what the word wasn't a medical one. His understanding of Greek suggested it meant recover but that made no sense in context either.

"It's an organ without a human analog," Lex said impatiently. "We don't entirely understand it, of course, but we know it's where Kryptonians generate the majority of their stem cells- in fact, they generate far more than humans do; even under red light conditions, they likely had an easier time fighting illness and repairing their bodies. However, your hybridization means you have two major production centers- your episkevi and your bone marrow, like the rest of the human race. If anything, the redundancy should ensure that one can always pick up the slack of the other, like I designed them to, but-" and here Lex glowered at the readouts. "-both seem to be barely working. I expected one system to have been damaged somehow, but both…."

Conner raised an eyebrow. "So you think the entire problem is in my stem cells?"

"No, the problem is also that you're not absorbing solar energy, though that is significantly harder to measure. Something else must have at least partially compromised your stem cells, or whatever is causing the solar energy uptake issues in your bio cellular matrix would have been resolved." Lex turned to him, glancing him over with a critical eye. "Which reminds me. Did you sunbathe today?"

"I spent the whole morning laying on the deck."

"East facing?"

Conner grimaced. "Of course, I'm not an idiot."

"Good." Lex turned back to the screen and gave it a tired tilt of his head. "At any rate, this adds something to our hail-mary list. If I can flood your body with fresh, healthy stem cells, I could theoretically buy you some time. Of course, without a proper energy source, those cells won't be able to do much at all, so it's only slightly better than doing nothing. You wouldn't happen to know what the League did with your umbilical cord, do you?"

Conner stared at him as though he'd grown a second head.

Lex let out an annoyed grunt and held up his hands in a rough estimation of the size of a football. "We preserved it for reasons like this. In a jar. At Cadmus. Which the Justice League raided. If it wound up in the government's hands, I would have gotten it back by now, so I assume it's in an evidence room somewhere. Languishing. Stored improperly."

"I didn't even know I'd had one."

"You have a navel. Did you not glance at it at least once and assume- nevermind. It would probably take too long to grow the cultures big enough to matter anyway; I just want to keep my options-" Lex broke off, hunching. His hand rose to clutch at his chest, though Conner doubted he could feel it through the vest.

Conner took a cautious half step towards him. "Da- I mean, Lex. Are you alright-?"

Lex staggered over to the nearest trashcan and vomited.

Wincing, Conner swallowed back the irrational urge to join him (he'd laughed so hard at Wally the first time he'd seen him sympathetically vomit, it had seemed so stupid and oh god how he understood the teen's righteous indignation now) and turned away. Busied himself with going to one of the cold sample fridges which held a small stash of water bottles.

As soon as the lack of noise made it safe to turn around, he joined Lex where he slumped on the floor and pressed the chilled plastic against his forehead. "I might not be an expert, but I know drinking helps. Not scotch. Water."

With an irritated scowl, Lex took the bottle and unscrewed the lid for a ragged swallow. "And I am an expert, who can assure you, that scotch does indeed pair better with chemotherapy than water." He took another petulant sip. "Or at least it's more gratifying."

Conner felt his brows furrow. "You said the vest stopped the cancer from spreading. Are you doing chemotherapy still?"

"Small doses, yes," Lex grit out. He gave Conner an amused glance over the rim of the bottle as he took another swig. "Just because the vest has slowed it to a crawl doesn't mean I've called a truce. You might be too noble from your time in the Junior Boyscouts Division, but kicking your opponent while they're down is a universally effective strategy."

Conner rolled his eyes and tugged Lex to his feet. "You'd be surprised. We spent a lot more time on bypassing security systems and how to avoid leaving implicating evidence than we did on ethics." He strode towards the door. "Dill chips. Got it."

"Thanks, son."

* * *

The city of Caliente sat just off the state highway, nestled precariously in the high desert between pitted, craggy mountains. For a town of roughly 1,000 people, it boasted only five places to eat and spectacularly few of the usual modes of entertainment. Anyone hoping to catch a movie or shop at more than three stores had an hour's drive to look forward to. Sporty types were fortunate only if they happened to be into hot springs or recreational sunburns.

Conner was perfectly satisfied with this little corner of the world. The sun dappled brightly through the pergola over the coffee shop's patio, entwined with sweet smelling bunches of wisteria and punctuated by silver green strands of burro's tails. The owners were friendly, nosey types and the hint of the old-western twang to their questions charmed Conner into answering semi-honestly. As far as they were concerned, he was a nice, polite teenager vacationing with his father in one of the many cabins in the area. The fact that he never had a kayak or mountain bike strapped to his jeep got him a raised eyebrow or two, as the great outdoors was the only appeal to this destination, but Conner made vague comments about hiking and took his coffee and dozen pastries outside.

It was nice. He could shut his eyes and soak up the sun, maybe with a good book propped open in front of him. Plenty of background noise as locals came and went and tires passed over the smooth concrete as they hurried on or stopped to gas up on long roadtrips. Apart from polite nods, most people left him to his business.

Hence why it was so startling when Kaldur slid into the seat across from him, Wolf in tow.

"You are not an easy man to find these days," his friend said, in that strikingly calm manner he had. He crossed his hands over his stomach as Wolf let out a soft, happy huff and braced his paws against his shoulders to lick his lips and nose once. "And you have been missed."

Conner couldn't quite suppress his delight and ran his fingers through the dense, coarse fur that could only be softened by gallons of conditioner and patience neither he nor Wolf possessed. A feeling a lot like home washed over him as Wolf's claws clicked against the pavement as he rocked back into a sitting position. Conner glanced around, bracing himself for whatever other members of the Team had tagged along.

Oh, god. This was going to be a nightmare to explain to the League.

"It is simply me today," Kaldur assured him, pale green eyes as warm as they were somber. Like Conner, he was dressed both discreetly and for the weather: his tank top was a similar burnt orange to his new uniform and he wore a loose pair of black pants. His gills were invisible, covered in the skin colored latex Batman had designed for more covert missions where neck coverings would be noteworthy. Fingerless rock climbing gloves concealed his webbed hands. Conner knew the desert heat was harder on his Atlantean body than he was letting on. Accepted it for the sign of friendship that it was. "You could say I'm just checking in."

"How did you find me?"

"It was no small task. You are certainly adept at staying off the grid. I had to resort to asking Zatanna to use a locator spell, but even she could only get me within a hundred miles or so. Wolf has been so kind as to assist me by checking each town for your scent."

It sounded like days, if not weeks, of work. Conner chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Sorry about that, but…"

Kaldur waited a beat or two. "But you didn't wish to be found? I'd gathered that from how you left behind every conceivable method we had of contacting you." A small hesitation. "How are you doing, Conner?"

"J'onn told you, didn't he?" Conner sighed and looked back down at Wolf's face. "Who else?"

"As far as I know, just me. He never desired to violate your privacy, but when he tried to reach out to you in order to verify your current condition, he found that no one had heard from you in several weeks and grew concerned. Thus, he asked me to locate you and make contact."

"Have you reported in?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I'm doing alright." Conner looked up, giving him a crooked smile. If Martian Manhunter had to pick anyone to tell, he was glad it was Kaldur. He'd always preferred the Atlantean's gentle serenity to the more volatile personalities of his teammates. "Considering."

"Your powers have diminished."

"What tipped you off?"

"You didn't hear us coming. Wolf made quite the ruckus when he picked up your scent."

Conner felt his lips twist into amused furrows. The great lazy beast curled up on the concrete pavers at his feet as Conner sat back in his chair. "I bet. You're right: they're more or less unusable these days. I haven't made a point of testing, but I can only use them in short spurts, if at all."

"And your health?"

"Not great, but I can function."

"I'm glad to hear it." They sat in silence for another few seconds. "I don't mean to pry, but what have you been doing with this time away? I understand needing some space, after ending your recent relationship with M'gann, but... " Kaldur glanced around the patio. "This feels more like withdrawal. From everything. From everyone."

"You're not wrong," Conner allowed. He reached for his paper coffee cup, mostly for something to keep his hands occupied. "I just wanted to be alone. To deal with this on my own terms without having to comfort anyone else."

"I think it is you who would receive the most comfort."

Conner shook his head. "I don't think so. I would be offered the most, certainly, and everyone would want to help, but the truth is that there is nothing anyone can do except watch me slowly die. Yeah, maybe it would be nice to spend my final days as a team, but I don't think anyone would be happy. Maybe at first, but once I get worse? Once I can't get out of bed and need a nurse just to use the bathroom?" Conner dug his fingers into the sides of his almost empty cup, easing up a split second too late as it sent coffee splashing over the edge. He dropped it on the table with a grimace, shaking coffee from his fingertips. "I don't know how J'onn explained it to you, but this isn't… it's not going to be fast. I'm not just going to drop dead. I'll be miserable and in pain while my organs give out, cell by cell. Everyone will not only watch me get weak, they'll have to watch me waste away in agony. None of the treatments change that, so I don't want them. It's better this way."

"It's better that you just disappear?" Kaldur asked gently.

"Why not?" Conner shrugged and looked out over the street. It had been only three months or so since the speedster had died, yet the grief was already a dull flicker when his name came up. Selfishly perhaps, Conner had been wrapped up in his own problems. "It's what Wally did. I used to think that was cruel, but now I'm not so sure. We might not have had a chance to say goodbye but who knows if that would have made it any better. Death just sucks."

"That it does." Kaldur sighed and put his elbows on the table, looking at Conner past his joined palms. "But I don't see what you think being out here will improve. You said it yourself. Eventually, you will require care whether you like it or not. Will you return then?"

"I've got it covered."

"How?"

"Just trust me."

"I do, but I also care about you. This is an extremely difficult situation and I know you can be reckless, despite having grown immensely in the time I've known you."

"What are you getting at?"

A cautious stare. "When I couldn't find you for so long, I feared you might have… attempted to streamline things. I still am."

"You mean kill myself before it gets too bad?" Conner asked bluntly, smiling a little at Kaldur's shallow nod. "Tried that. Didn't work."

Kaldur's breath caught. "Conner-"

"It's fine. I threw up the Kryptonite and learned my lesson. Don't worry about me trying it again."

"I say this as your friend, but if this is the point you've already reached…" Kaldur took in a fortifying breath. "Isolation, while advantageous in other ways, can take a psychological toll. I do not think you should be alone right now, regardless of what you prefer. Please. Your medical condition alone requires-"

Conner glanced away. "I'm not alone, Kaldur. I told you, I've got my end of life care arranged for too. I don't want to go back to the Watchtower and have this rehashed again with a bigger audience."

Kaldur gave Conner a steady look. His voice had no hint of request. "Who?"

There was no point in not answering, Conner realized. Kaldur had already found him. Once he reported in, it would take little time for the League to locate the cabin if they put even a fraction of resources to it. "My father."

Kaldur's eyebrows shot up. "I thought Superman is on that diplomatic mission in sector forty three. And that you and he still considered-"

Conner set his jaw and gave him a pointed look.

"Ah. Lex Luthor." Kaldur was quiet for a long moment, considering his clasped hands. Looked up a moment later, face devoid of judgement. "Tell me how this came to be."

Conner dragged a palm across his face and grimaced. On some level, he'd known he'd have to do this eventually. It didn't necessarily make it easier.

He stuck to the short version. It still took a good fifteen minutes. Before he knew it, his explanation had devolved into an outright rant.

"-and I know, he's just doing it for his own ego and for his own cure. I do. I assure you, I am fully conscious of that fact, but I don't know…." Conner rubbed the back of his neck. "It's nice. In such a weird way, it's nice. I'm… a little bit happy, even. I like having a dad. He's not even a good one, but just having one is… nice? It's hard to describe."

Kaldur nodded. Not once had his attention strayed. "I think I understand."

"I don't! This makes no sense. Being around him is not what I thought it would be and it's giving me something I didn't have before. Something important." Conner glared around them, as though the right words and concepts were loafing about instead of helping him phrase things. "Like a point of origin? I mean, I came from a Cadmus pod and I know why I was made, but this gives me… more. A bigger context for my life. One I didn't realize that I've been starving for. Like a place in the world that I don't feel trapped by or obligated to. Between all of his weird, stray comments of how I was engineered to be perfect and his fucked up stories about what it means to be a Luthor, I feel… more like a person? Less like I came from a test tube, ironically. I mean, I know I came from a test tube but now it feels like I also come from a family, half of which sound like they were the American industrialist versions of Game of Thrones-"

"Hm. You mean like Mad Men?"

"Way worse than Mad Men," Conner said, widening his eyes for emphasis. "You have no idea. I always thought that his personal reasons for making me with his own DNA was to get back at Superman, but no. That's too simple. My existence is his biological revenge on, like, thirteen different people. Thirteen , including his own mother who probably sterilized him and gave him cancer-" Conner broke off and covered his face with his hands. Took a breath. "It's messed up and complicated, but it's nice in spite of that. No, actually, maybe it's nice because of that. We just let it be what it is: I'm his bio-engineered revenge son, he's my fucked up science dad. There's no pretending the things that bother us aren't problems; we don't carefully pick the words we use to describe each other for the sake of making our relationship palatable. We get along, and it's fine. We scream at each other, and it's equally fine. To call it acceptance would be a disservice to the word 'fact'. We both just exist as what we are without denying it and it's so much of a fucking relief I almost can't handle it."

Kaldur put his palm flat on Conner's chest, over his heart. Conner realized suddenly that his voice had risen, though they weren't close enough to the interior that anyone could make out the words. His eyes were kind. "I am glad you have it then, if it brings you peace."

Conner snorted. It came out even more bitter than he planned. "It actually makes me angry too. At Superman. All those years of dancing around the situation and trying so hard and I just… He never gave me this. This one stupid little thing. Lex is an egotistical trainwreck of a person who shouldn't be entrusted with the care of a comatose goldfish, and he gave it to me without even thinking about it."

Kaldur gave him a tentative, somber smile and eased back into his seat. "It sounds like his world is… untroubled by complication."

He couldn't help but laugh, feeling himself settle down despite it. "And morality. And human decency. And anything resembling mental health." He pushed himself backwards in his chair, dropping a hand to Wolf's raised head. The canine had noticed his mounting agitation, but hadn't gotten worked up in absence of an obvious threat; merely watched him with his black and yellow eyes, ready to dish out comfort or war. Still a good boy. "Go ahead. Tell me I'm crazy."

"You are not crazy."

"That's not right. I must be."

Kaldur gave him a dry look. "You are not. I might not be a psychologist, but I am no stranger to complicated relationships with a criminal father."

Alright. Maybe someone could understand what he was going through. The thought was more than a little reassuring.

"Point." Conner raised an eyebrow. "How are things between you and Manta?"

"Better than I expected. We still write each other." The Atlantean shrugged and shook his head. "If I've learned one thing from my own experience it is that love, like everything else, just… is. Not good or bad. Independent. Independent from ourselves even. Finding out Manta was my father and spending time with him made me feel complete: not because I was ever missing a part of myself, but because at last I had answers. Those answers didn't complete me, it was the knowledge that they didn't that made me feel whole."

Conner slowly nodded. "I think I understand."

"But that's not to say that what I learned from my father had no value. It simply didn't define me the way I thought it might."

"You betrayed him in the end," Conner said, searching his friend's face.

Kaldur nodded. "It was painful and hard, but yes, I did what I felt was right. I won't pretend that it did not hurt our relationship, because it did, but our bond simply goes deeper than that. How deep, I do not know, but I would like to find out." He gave Conner a small smile. "But you must be careful not to forget something. Mind you, I got this from Artemis so she gets the credit."

"What is it?"

"That you have a lot of choice about what bullshit you put up with."

Conner laughed. "Yeah, that sounds like her. Alright, that's pretty good. She deserves credit."

"Just know your limits, is at the heart of it. Respect your own boundaries first. If you have to shield a relationship from your own needs, it's not contributing to your life, it's taking from it. It's okay to walk away."

"This is a lot of good advice." Conner eyed the man across from him. "None of which I'll get to use if I'm dragged back to the Watchtower for medical treatment I don't want."

Kaldur held up a hand. "There will be no dragging, I promise. If this is what you want, then I will not stand in your way, even if I do not personally trust Lex. Your life is your own."

"Thank you. That means a lot."

"But I do have conditions." Kaldur gave him a mild look in return for Conner's huff. "First, you keep Wolf with you. He pines."

"Deal." Conner reached down to give him a pat. "You know I only left you behind because I didn't think you'd enjoy the road, right, boy? Besides, now we shouldn't stand out so much together if we don't go into any big towns for a while."

Wolf gave his hand an affirmative lick and lay back down.

"Second," Kaldur went on. "You must meet with me here every three days. Not only will it give me a chance to check in with you, it will give us a chance to catch up about everything else." He waved a hand at the street. "We can get lunch together or something. I will tell you about Dick's terrible dating life. Besides, it should help keep the League off your back if someone can say they have spoken to you recently."

Right. The League. Conner sighed. "What are you going to tell J'onn?"

"Well," Kaldur said slowly. "Since I think we can assume that he will not be as understanding about you spending time with Lex in lieu of medical treatment, I will have to lie to him." At Conner's raised eyebrow, he waved a hand. "I will spin something close enough to the truth that it will not ring false. Insist that you are working on a travel bucket list while you come to terms with your condition and do not wish to be disturbed."

"And you think he'll be satisfied with that?"

"For another month or two, at least," Kaldur agreed, shifting in his seat. "We will have to revisit this plan closer to then. He will want to know why you have not returned once traveling is no longer feasible and, regardless of what I tell him, he will likely seek you out in person."

Conner grimaced. "Well, I can't think of a better idea, so we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Thanks for doing this, Kaldur. It means a lot to me."

"I am happy that you will let me. You really have been missed and not just by Wolf." With that, the pale haired man stood and shot a baleful look at the sun, shielding his eyes with his webbed hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to run back to the safety of my climate conditioned SUV. I've got a three hour drive to the nearest zeta tube."

Conner raised a disbelieving eyebrow. No wonder no one had found him. "Three hours? What is this, some kind of a dead zone?"

"Worse." Kaldur's lips twitched as he started his short walk to where he'd parked at the curb. "This whole area is a UFO tourist destination. Area 51 is about an hour west from here. Too many civilians with cameras on the lookout for anything even mildly suspicious, ready to tweet our movements at the slightest provocation. You may want to be careful."

Conner chuckled and stood, Wolf mimicking him. "Good thing I'm only half alien, then. Take care, Kaldur."


	4. Chapter 4

Wolf's ears flattened as he froze, hackles raised. Backed up against the couch, Lex's posture was the human equivalent. Despite not moving an inch, Wolf chose that split second to let out a low, warning growl.

"Stop that, Wolf," Conner scolded him, nudging his flank gently with his heel as he set the 50 lb bag of dog food on the bar counter and began shedding stuffed white plastic bags from his arms. Super strength and impatience meant that Conner rarely suffered the indignity of two trips, a habit he refused to relinquish despite his chronic exhaustion. Frankly, he probably shouldn't have bought as many snacks as he did, but everything had looked amazing and ended up going in his cart before he could stop himself. As much as he'd heard not to ever shop hungry, there didn't seem to be many times when he wasn't anymore.

"What is that mutt doing here?" Lex demanded, shifting his glare but not taking a step in their direction. "Don't tell me your abomination tracked you from New Jersey?"

"He's got the chops but not the patience," Conner said, crouching to put away the many, many snacks he'd bought. He made a point of waving a bag of dill chips above the counter top before adding it to the rest and stood. "I take it you're more of a cat person."

"I'm more of a reptile fan." A quick flicker of infrared through the bar showed Conner that Lex still hadn't budged. "At least cats have the decency to ignore you unless strictly necessary."

"Lucky for you, that's Wolf's usual M.O." Conner stood, ripping open an enormous bag of trail mix and popping a few pieces in his mouth. "He's just also good at holding grudges." At Wolf's second growl, Conner gently cuffed him; it was more of a disapproving pet than anything else. "I'm serious. Cut that out. We both know who that is."

At that, Wolf gave him a dubious stare but relaxed his limbs and fell silent.

"I take it your savage little stray means that your associates have tracked you down."

"My friend," Conner corrected. "And, yes. Just the one. Aquaman has agreed to keep his mouth shut about me being out here with you, so there's no need to go calling for Mercy. He was just worried about me, but so long as I meet up with him in town every few days, he'll keep the League off my back about what I've been doing and with whom."

Lex raised his eyebrows. "That's a rather lenient stance, given my history with your team. Then again, I suppose if any of your so-called friends has an appreciation for moral gray areas, Black Manta's son would be one." He tapped a finger against his lips and glanced around the sun filled room. "I may upgrade the security system's protocols just in case."

"He's not going to tell anyone."

"My faith in your friends is vicarious at best. You'll just have to forgive my common sense."

Conner picked out a small sliver of jerky from the mix and tossed it to Wolf. The canine's jaws slammed together with a thunderous crack; a non-accidental show of force, judging from the side eye he gave Lex while doing it. Conner sighed. "I take it you're hiding out? I've noticed Mercy is the only one who comes here."

Lex shrugged. "More like laying low. I'd hate for any of my enemies to think now is a good time to strike, given that my diagnosis was made public when I stepped down. It would certainly complicate more things for you too, if more witnesses could place us together. My people are usually good about keeping their mouths shut, but the League has their ways. They can often be as ruthless as I am."

Conner couldn't help his snort. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm the least horrifying of your dirty little secrets?"

"I won't say you're wrong," Lex allowed, tilting his head. "But the secret part is more for your sake than mine. I would have claimed you publicly by your first birthday if I'd thought you and the League wouldn't have disavowed it. Now that you're legally an adult, consenting to amending your birth certificate would certainly make it easier for my lawyers to set up your inheritance. You have no idea how many fits they've pitched over email already: all the misery of probate and I haven't even died yet. It's probably half their fees worth of time."

"You're leaving me an inheritance?" Conner froze in the act of digging around in his trail mix for M&Ms.

"All of it, actually, apart from a small trust for Lena. You probably won't get much of LexCorp or whatever is deemed criminal after the fact, but my personal holdings should go to you with little contest." He scowled. "Once the legal vultures are done deciding which is which, you should at least have 200 million. Possibly closer to five hundred. It's not the full four billion my total holdings are worth, I know, but-"

Something clenched in his chest. It reminded him of being in a thunderstorm. "But I'm going to die before you."

"Not if I can help it." Lex shrugged. "Besides, I didn't do it recently." Taking in Conner's poleaxed look, he shook his head. "Just because we're only now on speaking terms, doesn't mean you weren't my son before this. Family isn't about voluntary association, or even love or trust. You're my legacy."

"You created me to help the Light take over the world. As a weapon," Conner snapped. "Don't pretend like my creation was about anything else."

"I'm not." Lex came to the bar counter under Wolf's watchful stare and drew himself into a bar chair. Glanced consideringly at the shining rows of bottles. "Admittedly, when I was designing you, my motives were entirely about the Light's goals and the thrill of cutting edge scientific achievement. Kryptonian DNA is notoriously difficult and creating any sort of functioning being with it automatically earns a place in the history books. My decision to use my own genetic material was also fairly clinical: not only are the sequences familiar to me, but I am, after all, the smartest man I've ever met. At the time, you were just a science experiment I made on the government's dime and hoped to mould into a weapon. You weren't even a person to me."

Conner stared down at his clenched fists. Forced them to release. "So what changed?"

"You did." Lex raised an eyebrow. "You broke out. You refused to follow the protocols we instilled in you. Despite the fact that we deliberately avoided giving you a personality, you grew your own in a matter of days. Days. I was every bit as pleased as I was irritated that it was ruining my plans. No, it would be more accurate to say that I was smug. Our radically different goals couldn't change the obvious fact that my genes had granted you this potential. Not only was I forced to acknowledge that you were a person in your own right, and my genetic offspring at that, but you carried the most essential, worthwhile part of me: my indomitable will. That was when I realized that you were my legacy, whether either of us liked it or not."

Conner gave him a thin look. "You mean, I'm a stubborn asshole, like you."

"Call it whatever you want," Lex said, climbing off his stool and circling to the other side of the bar to pour himself a drink. Took a big enough swallow that Conner knew he wasn't tasting the alcohol (probably not his first today, then). "But it is what it is. Calling you a dirty secret would imply that I'm ashamed of your existence; nothing could be further from the truth."

"Even though I spend a lot of time running around with boy scouts and trying to make the world a safer place from people like you?"

Lex sniffed. "Our shared will makes us contentious by nature. I'd be disappointed in you if you agreed with me on everything. It'd speak to a weak mind."

Conner didn't doubt it for a second. He went back to his trail mix. "Well, unless you made any huge breakthroughs today, you might want to consider alternative legacies."

"You mean having other kids?" Lex snorted into his drink. "No thanks. I abhor children: force growing you is the only reason we're having the conversation now and not in another ten years. Besides, after you, a human child would seem boring in comparison and I doubt I could get away with another hybrid project without catching some heat vision." He glanced at Conner inquisitively. "Unless you're that excited for similarly powered siblings?"

Conner pointedly returned the scotch to its place on the other side of the bar. It wouldn't stop Lex from drinking more but it made a firm suggestion. "For ethical reasons, I'm going to have to say no."

Lex hummed, giving Conner a 'I see what you did there and I don't like it' glance though he followed Conner from the bar to the main sitting area, pausing only to retrieve his dill chips. "Perhaps it's best your existence remains as unique as you."

"I doubt that," Conner muttered, patting Wolf as he shuffled over to drape on his side of the couch.

"What do you mean by that?"

He probably shouldn't say anything, but he hadn't lied to Kaldur earlier: his bitterness and anger with Superman only steeped as Lex continued to give him the most acceptance and validation out of his two parents. "Superman could have kids. You know. The normal way."

Lex snorted and offered him his bag. Conner plucked a few chips out; even though he didn't like the flavor, all food was appealing these days. His dad settled the bag between them. "I doubt he'll have much luck with that. You forget I've seen his genome. Appearances aside, Kryptonian DNA has less in common with humans than coconuts do."

"You mean it's not possible?" Conner felt his eyebrows climb his forehead.

If that was the case then… He'd never taken Lois for that type of woman, but surely Clark would have seen it with his x-ray vision and asked before he left on that mission….

"Not outside of a lab. Well," Lex allowed. "Using my notes, someone competent could probably handle the fusion of sperm and egg, then implant it in someone to grow." He chuckled. "But that would be relying on random chance to get a healthy genotype, much less the ideal biological integration of systems. There'd be no controlling for results or even fetal viability, but still, I suppose it could be done."

Ah. Conner set down his chips, staring at his hands. That actually made it worse.

His stomach curled in on itself, like a cruel parody of that little, unmistakable infrared flicker in Lois's womb that he'd spotted the last time he'd bumped into her at the Kent farm. That precious life growing inside her made Conner want to sink through the ground until he reached the center of the earth to burn up.

He'd felt like such an idiot at the time, berating himself- of course Clark would have children, most people did. Just because he hadn't wanted to be a father to his non-consensual lab-offspring didn't mean he didn't want to be one at all. Conner was his brother now and apparently an ungrateful one: he should be happy for Lois and Clark. It shouldn't feel like he was being torn apart from the inside out; like an achievement he'd been working towards his whole life had been handed to someone else at the last second.

It'd be a lie to say the baby wasn't a big part of why he never once entertained going to Ma and Pa with his illness. Why he didn't even try to surround himself with his few relations. With a little luck (and by opting out of treatment), he'd be dead before the kid was born and he wouldn't have to suffer through their joy and/or feel guilty for casting a shadow over it. Would never have to see some perfectly innocent kid- his half-sibling- soak up all the love Conner had so badly wanted just a piece of.

It had been easier when he'd figured that the pregnancy had come as much of a surprise as most babies do. It had been easier not to resent Clark, if it hadn't necessarily been his choice.

But no, Clark and Lois had very specifically, and presumably at great cost and effort, gone out of their way to start their own little family. One that Conner would only ever be auxiliary to and not a part of; which, considering how unconnected he felt to Ma and Pa, might be overestimating his kinship to begin with. Hell, he wasn't even certain what Clark would want to tell the damn kid about Conner. Maybe instead of "uncle" he'd get downgraded to "cousin" posthumously.

Lex was studying him through narrowed eyes. "I take it that this scenario isn't hypothetical." His expression shifted, grew more considering. Shrewd.

Shit.

"Do nothing with that information," Conner ground out.

"I wasn't going to-"

"Don't bullshit me, Dad. You're the type to put out a hit on a Little League rival, if you thought it would give your own kid a leg up. It takes no imagination to guess what you'd do to any threat to how 'special' I am, so I'm telling you outright, do nothing with this information ."

Lex's face pinched and went back to his drink. "Fine. I'll leave your hypothetical half-sibling unharassed." He shifted on the couch and gave his son a dry look, before adding, "And everyone knows you don't put out a hit on the rival. That's bad form. You bribe the umpire."

It shouldn't have, but it ripped a small chuckle from Conner. He turned it into a cough. "Don't."

"Putting out a hit encourages martyrdom," Lex went on, in that same exasperated voice, as though lecturing him on the importance of a firm handshake or some other lesson he hadn't thought was necessary to specify. Gestured airily with his glass. "Satisfaction is brief. Next thing you know, you're stuck holding candles in a gymnasium-"

Another strangled laugh.

"- while someone puffs up their accomplishments and sticks that little shit's face on everything. Memorials. Posters. Billboards. They get more recognition than if they'd won the stupid ball game. That goes against the whole point of getting rid of them. It's inane."

Conner gave in to the giggling after a moment, leaning back against the squishy sofa cushions and feeling cradled by them. Wolf gave him a careful look, before climbing up to join him.

"None of that proves that your kid is better than theirs- in fact, it protects their reputation from that fact. No one wants to say it in bad taste anymore. No," Lex went on. "You want that little fucker alive, so they can lose in front of everyone." He glanced at Conner, obviously satisfied with the effect he was having. "At least, that's my philosophy these days. Upstaging Superman would be a lot more satisfying than killing him."

"And that's why you're the second largest collector of Kryptonite behind the Justice League?"

Lex pursed his lips. "That's a business decision." He took another drink. "I'm only half joking. That stuff holds its value per ounce like you wouldn't believe. Platinum and gold can eat their hearts out."

That nudged a thought loose. Conner looked down at the near-empty 5-lb bag of trail mix. "Actually, that reminds me: I'm eating a lot. Have been, since I started feeling unwell. Does that count as a symptom?"

"Secondary. I already noted it." Lex stole a small handful of trail mix from the bag, obviously aware that the window the snack would be available through was short. "It's to be expected. Another redundancy of your hybridized biology. With your solar radiation absorption compromised, your body is leaning on human means of deriving energy."

"Eating is just a human thing?" Conner wrinkled his nose. "That can't be right. Clark eats."

"I'm sure he has his reasons. Kryptonians under a red sun probably ate, so it might even be a vestigial instinct hardwired into him. Unless there's factors I haven't accounted for, I don't think he needs to unless his body takes unusually severe damage, at which point, he just needs the proteins to replace whatever tissues can't be repaired." He gave Conner a short glance. "Another fun fact for your afternoon, I suppose. Were you functioning, you could probably go at least a few weeks without food or feeling any ill effects. Not that you'd want to."

"Food is delicious," Conner agreed. He went on another hunting expedition for M&Ms, though their numbers had thinned. He found three. "Though I think I'll keep eating for others' sake too. I lost my rations during field training once and by the end of the day, the Team made it a requirement to bring backups, specifically for me. It's officially called Superboy's Supply. Apparently, even over comms, I'm intolerable when hangry."

Lex's brows knitted sharply, as he settled his thumb and forefinger on his chin. "When was this?"

"I don't know. Before my first or second birthday, for sure."

Lex muttered something and grabbed the tablet he'd left on the opposite side of the couch. Wolf flattened his ears and was pointedly ignored.

"Why? It important?"

"Probably not," Lex said, glancing up from the screen reluctantly at Conner before dropping his gaze back to his puzzle. "It just doesn't add up precisely..."

Conner nodded and grabbed the remote, flicking on the television and thoroughly unsurprised as Lex wandered off, still muttering to himself as though unaware that he still existed in physical reality, much less had been talking to someone. He did that a lot. "What are you in the mood for, Wolf?" he asked the reclining beast. "Nature channel or-? Right. Nature channel it is."

* * *

Kaldur narrowed his eyes. "You're joking."

"I am not," Conner told him, giving his friend a pained look. "Twenty million dollars, all in green initiatives- this week. Plus, the bulk of his shadow control over Lexcorp's board. All of it. To. Spite. Superman."

Kaldur considered his lemonade on the scuffed table of burger joint. It was small and vying for a 'classic' vibe that didn't quite conceal it's lack of updates since the late eighties (up to and including those blue and pink neon crayon squiggles on everything) but was uncrowded and heavily air conditioned. "Why?"

"Because the weakening ozone layer leading to the heat death of the planet is also letting in more solar radiation. Global warming is making Superman slightly stronger and Lex can't have that." Conner took an almost morose sip of his orange soda. "He's going to save the planet out of pettiness and no one can stop him."

"Should anyone stop him?"

"I don't know." Conner furrowed his brows. "Probably. He's crazy and his methods are awful, but maybe pointing that obsessive, unethical drive in a productive direction is better than not."

"Methods."

"He's blackmailing, like, eight US senators. LexCorp will make a killing if his bill passes, because somehow he's managed to get back control of some of his shares, but so will anyone starting any new green initiatives. These tax breaks basically make it financially irresponsible for any major company not to participate."

Kaldur took a thoughtful sip of lemonade. "We should find a way to convince him that cleaning up the oceans will hurt Superman."

Conner gave an exasperated sigh. "I'll look into it. Refugees is next on my list, though."

"What's the argument for that?"

"If he saves them, Superman can't look good doing it?"

Kaldur nodded and pressed his cup to his forehead, obviously seeking the condensation against his skin. "That has promise. We'll just have to save the oceans during his midlife crisis."

Conner laughed and crumpled up one of the wrappers in front of him. There were at least six alone on his half of the table, while Kaldur was only halfway through his own meal. Conner glanced consideringly at the counter, debating whether or not he should order more when Kaldur pushed his mostly untouched carton of fries at him. "How are you doing? I know you hate the desert."

"It's not that I hate the desert, it's that the desert hates me," the Atlantean said with only a trace of diplomacy. He set down his drink and tugged aside his tank top to reveal a second, padded one underneath. "Batman's tech. Hydro-cooling, with a bit of shock absorption thrown in. Early model but it's applications are mostly still medical. Not perfect, but better than feeling like walking around in an oven." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Beyond that, it is just the lack of humidity that is uncomfortable. Why would land dwellers choose to live somewhere where the air feels like sandpaper?"

"Money. Mining is the only reason the desert states are a thing."

Kaldur shook his head. "Enough about me. How do you feel?"

Conner dropped his head onto his hands, which were resting on the table. "Emotionally or physically?"

That earned him a chuckle. "How about both?"

"Not that hot, honestly. I've had the same headache for two days and I slept for twelve hours last night. I'm sore for no reason. Wolf has to take himself for walks now. My brain feels like it's lagging behind my mouth."

"I am unfamiliar with that expression."

"I keep calling Lex 'Dad'," he clarified, scowling at the table. "Out loud. The whole word."

"And he is ungracious about it?"

"Worse. Pleased." Conner pushed himself upright to take a fortifying sip of soda. "It's almost a reflex now. I'm not sure what to do about it."

"Should you?" Kaldur carefully tilted his drink until a piece of ice made it to the edge. White teeth flashed as he plucked it free and crunched down. "He is your father. It is what many people call their fathers."

"Yeah, but this is Lex. I don't want to give him the satisfaction. He's frustrating enough as it is."

"Things don't have to be good to be important to you. Dads included."

"You sound like him."

"Perhaps. Consider though, what you stand to lose in what is only a small victory on his part." Kaldur propped his cheek on his knuckles. "Relationships are, on some level, about give and take. Has he not given you anything you consider of equal value that you would be willing to call him by a term he likes in return?"

Conner snorted. "Not on purpose, but maybe. I certainly don't waste much energy on worrying if I'm a bad person anymore. Compared to Lex, I'm alright. Hell, I could probably burn down an orphanage and still be okay, overall. He's so much more of a mess than I realized."

"Indeed." Kaldur raised an eyebrow. "He seemed so much more composed whenever we encountered him in the field. Some of your stories are quite surprising, in comparison."

"I think it has to do with the fact that he's been drinking since we got here. And high, but I make a point of not knowing just how much cocaine he does. What's going on with everyone else?" Conner segued, earning himself a wry look from his friend at the unveiled change in subject. "Anything exciting going on?"

"Well, I already told you about Dick and Barbara's… thing. And that Artemis moved in with Will and Jade a few weeks ago." Kaldur gave him a reserved look- Conner knew well that meant he was phrasing what could be bad news. "And Superman is returning from his diplomatic mission early."

Conner stiffened in his seat, fingers frozen in the act of taking fries. "I thought that was supposed to last until August. Did something happen?"

Kaldur shrugged and shook his head. "The account I heard was that negotiations were unexpectedly fast tracked. The wife of one of the invading empire's princes died in a somewhat fortuitous tragedy, opening up the option of a new marriage solidifying the negotiations. Our delegation is only obligated to be guests of honor for the two-week celebrations following, instead of the remaining two and a half months."

Conner chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Do you know if J'onn has said anything to him about me?"

Kaldur held up a hand, though it was with a sympathetic wince. "I am not privy to their private communications, Conner. I cannot say that he will, but since Superman is currently authorized to make emergency medical decisions on your behalf and J'onn once was your guardian… I cannot say that I am confident that he will not get wind of your condition before long."

"I understand that. Promise me you won't say anything about where I am and who I'm with."

"Conner…" Kaldur shifted in his seat. "You realize what position this puts me in. When I accepted the title of Aquaman, I became an official part of the League. Misleading or outright lying to J'onn is one thing, but Superman is the leader."

"I know," Conner said, covering his face with his hands. "And I don't expect you to withstand an actual interrogation. Just… promise me you won't volunteer the information unless directly asked. Try to do that whole discreet, non-answer thing that you do."

"Discrete non-answer thing?" Kaldur asked.

Conner mimicked his friend's perfect posture and held up a placating hand. "These are answers I cannot provide in good confidence at this time," he said, in a smooth, slightly stilted attempt at imitating Atlantean diction. He dropped it at Kaldur's dry look. "Just… hold out as long as you can. Don't ruin your standing with the League. I know I can't keep a lid on this forever, I just…." Conner rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I just don't think I can deal with Lex and Clark at the same time. I would much rather take Lex."

Kaldur inclined his head. "I can promise you that." Another brief hesitation. "If I am pressed for such information, would you like me to try and… prepare Superman for the situation?"

"How? I'm living with his mortal enemy, the one he has specifically devoted hours to warning me about. I don't think it can go over well."

"Perhaps."

Conner sighed. "Trust me. I've been having this conversation with him in my head since I first accepted Lex's offer. Before that, even. There's just… there's no way he's going to let me off easy, even with the terminal illness thing working in my favor. Clark rarely yells or gets angry. No, he gets concerned or hurt by my actions, then starts wielding the word disappointed like he wishes he could club me over the head with it."

His friend's brows knitted. "That sounds…"

"Manipulative? Yeah, it is. Not in a mean way, but it does make me feel guilty for doing things he doesn't like or having feelings he doesn't agree with. Despite being the one who got hurt, I end up apologizing to him." Conner rubbed his face. "M'gann used to do that too, but she learned about it in one of her psyche classes, apologized immediately, and stopped. I tried to call him on it once and got brushed off. Didn't try again, either. What's the point? He isn't trying to be cruel; he just doesn't want to deal with me, but admitting that would make him feel like a bad person."

"Why didn't you say anything before?' Kaldur asked, eyes hard. "To others, I mean."

"M'gann noticed but I asked her not to say anything." Conner shrugged. "Why bother? It was nice of him to let me in his life at all and if it ever got back to him that I'd complained, I figured he'd just cut me off. Accuse me of spreading rumors. Besides, who would believe me? Outside of the Team, I mean. He's Superman. I'm a Cadmus clone. It would look like some sort of attack on his reputation." Taking in his friend's stiff body language, Conner waved a hand. "It doesn't matter, you know. I'll be dead soon and he'll be free of whatever he feels obligated to give me. Everybody wins."

"That is not what I would call it."

"Agree to disagree."


	5. Chapter 5

The sky was awash in dim pinpricks of light, twinkling for their steady positions in the cosmos as though winking invitingly at the little spinning blue planet so transfixed with them. A perfectly round desert moon hung heavy and burnt above the silhouette of crumbly mountains. Aspen leaves whispered in the wind while insects chirped, a backdrop of noise interrupted only by a sharp howl. Connor smiled. He couldn't be entirely sure, but he was pretty sure the sound came from the mountain slopes at his back and not the desert floor below.

It was different, seeing the sky this way: Conner's vision used to magnify the constellations significantly without him really being conscious of it. It had certainly made stargazing easier, as he'd never needed to squint and second guess the shapes, though he could never really zero in on any of them well enough to pick out planets from stars. Now, they all looked as precisely as big as they were ever going to get.

It should bother him, being forced to stare at them with merely human eyes, or at least make him sad but Conner found himself strangely delighted and humbled in equal measures. Rather than a pale, looming pock-marked rock that filled his vision, the moon had become a speckled, glowing orb amongst a much larger whole; more interesting for it's imperfections rather than repulsive. It was like the white noise all over again- the overwhelming blanket, the all consuming roar was the beautiful part, while the honing in on details more of a fun challenge rather than the entire experience.

Robbed of his ability to get lost in the needlework, Conner took in the entire tapestry and marveled.

"Does your stupid dog ever shut up?" Lex demanded, shoving open the sliding glass door to the rooftop deck with a snap.

"He's checking in with me. Letting me know where he's gotten to." Conner twisted in his favorite deck chair to watch him shut the door behind him and approach. "And he's not a dog, he's a wolf. It's different. He's smarter than people realize."

"Well, he's going to get himself shot by a hunter if he keeps giving up his position like that." Lex tossed a throw blanket on Conner's lap before reclining in the deck chair beside him. He followed it up with a protein drink and a couple of candy bars. "Don't come crying to me when that happens; I'm not buying you another one."

"You didn't buy me this one," Conner pointed out, setting the food to the side and spreading the blanket over his lap even though he wasn't particularly cold. It was pretty warm out still, even though Lex was wearing a jacket. "And Wolf can look after himself. I talked to our only neighbors last week and explained that he's a hybrid that sneaks out sometimes but won't bother any pets. If they stumble on him, he knows he's supposed to act like a dog to avoid trouble. That's what the collar's for anyway."

"He's supposed to what?"

"You know, wag his tail and make happy sounding barks and stuff." Conner tilted his head. "He's not great at it, but he knows how. And that he's supposed to do it. He mostly does what he wants, but he knows what I want and that's usually the same thing."

Lex gave him a side-eye glance. "I suddenly doubt you've actually managed to train this thing."

"That's what makes him a wolf," Conner countered. "And he's a very good boy."

Lex grumbled something about spoiled schnauzers that Conner couldn't quite make out. Funny how his declining senses made Lex easier to deal with.

They watched the night sky for another few seconds before Lex glanced over at him and made an impatient gesture. "You should eat those."

"Why? You poison them?" As if to belay his words, Conner twisted the top off and took a swallow of the protein drink anyway. He was actually hungry- he'd polished off a bag of pretzels when he'd first gotten up here, but hadn't wanted to get up to get something else. Lex snorted but didn't rise to the bait like Conner had expected. He actually took a better look at him. "Did you find something after you weighed me? I thought I only lost two pounds."

"Of fat you don't have to lose and you did it in less than a month," Lex countered. He took a deep and slow inhale before continuing. "Your body can create and store fat, but from what I can tell, hasn't done so since you've been outside of your pod."

Conner shrugged. "I only ever ate when I was hungry and I had an easy time stopping. That's supposed to be a good thing."

"Yes, but when you were force grown, your body was only given the bare minimum to cushion and insulate your organs. You were never expected to need more than that."

"Oh." Conner swallowed the next sip with a little more difficulty. "So, even when I'm eating all the time now, it's not enough?"

"The weight loss suggests that, yes. Whether your body is failing to use what you are eating or if its needs are too great for food alone is… unclear to me." Lex set his jaw. "As much work as I put into designing you, the fact of the matter is that our research on Kryptonian biology only extends so far and you're a completely new-"

"I understand." Conner stared at the bottle in his hand. When he finally spoke, his voice was neutral. "So, do you think I'll die of starvation before my organs can fail the other way? Or will the loss of cushioning speed up their deterioration?"

Lex hissed through his teeth. "It could go either way."

"Okay."

The desert hush surrounded them again. If Conner focused, he could hear Lex's heartbeat faintly- almost always elevated, made sharp by stress or cocaine or both- then eased off. It was making his headache worse.

"I was going to be a history teacher," Conner said, after another moment had passed. At Lex's soft, perplexed noise, he added, "You asked a few weeks ago why I chose history as my major. I was going to be a teacher. High school or middle school. M'gann and I both were, actually. I dropped out when we broke up."

Lex consulted his hands. "More her idea than yours?"

Conner shrugged. "Kind of. I planned to stick with it since I think I'd actually enjoy the work but I realized it wasn't going to work out. Around then it was also confirmed that my aging wasn't just delayed, it wasn't happening at all. Looking young wouldn't stop me from getting my license or a job, but unless I moved schools every year or so, someone would realize I didn't change; seeing as how background checks in educational roles are getting more stringent, I wouldn't get away with that forever no matter how often I switched states. The Team had more and more missions during that time anyway and I'd already taken off a few semesters to help out, so I dropped out three-quarters of the way through. Seemed like more trouble than it was worth to finish a degree for a job I could work in for less time than it took to get qualified for."

"My question still stands: why history? Why not something science or math?"

Why indeed. Conner gave him a dry look. "I like history fine. Besides, I thought it better to steer away from STEM topics. It was bad enough I had a temper, but I didn't want to invite even more comparisons."

"Comparisons?"

"To you." Conner shrugged again. It wasn't as an upsetting thought as it had once been. Whether maturity or weariness was the culprit remained to be seen. "I get those a lot, on both sides. It's pointless to try and dodge all of people's weird assumptions, but I hadn't figured that out yet when I picked my major."

"Legacy cuts both ways, I'm afraid. Why middle or high school?" Lex quirked an eyebrow. "Wait, I've got it. Little kids are horrid. We both know it. Tell me I'm right."

Conner couldn't help but laugh. "They're fine. Jesus, Dad. No, I'm already used to dealing with those ages. I've done a lot of training for the new members of the Team over the last few years and it was nice, even though I really only did it to pay everyone back for letting me stay for so long. Hell, it was actually pretty easy for me because they all thought I was cool and followed my instructions. Even the rowdy ones were just trying to impress me half the time."

"That sounds annoying."

"It was sometimes, but I didn't mind. They're all good kids. I've never met a kid that wasn't secretly a good kid." He trailed off. A small blossom of sorrow unfurled in his chest.

Lex shifted on his seat. "And so you switched to teaching the Little Leaguers-"

Conner groaned. "Don't make that pun. Everyone makes that pun."

"-instead of basking in the glory of the public school system?" Lex snorted. "Whether you wanted it or not, you dodged a bullet. And I suppose no one on the Sidekick Squad cared about how old you looked, so hand-holding super powered brats was close enough to what you wanted."

Conner looked back at the sky with a sigh. "Actually, I'd been thinking about leaving for awhile. For the last two years though I didn't necessarily realize it."

"The spandex and capes finally get to you?"

Conner's look was drier than the desert around them. "I don't do either of those." He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. "Someone asked me why I turned down the offer to join the League as a full member and it made me realize that not only do I not want to be Superman, I'm not sure I want to be a hero."

Lex gave a surprised huff and clicked his tongue. "Careful there, son. That's considered heresy in some parts."

Conner chuckled. "Oh, shut up, Dad. Don't act like you disapprove. We both know better. And before you ask, no, it's not from some deeply-seeded urge to shave my head and relentlessly monologue-"

"Gloating over a well sprung trap is a right," Lex began, stabbing a finger at him. "It's not my fault people are idiots and require an explanation before I can get to the clever stuff-"

A shadow flickered in Conner's peripheral. He turned, looking back at the sky just in time to see a figure obscure the moon, red cape flowing like the prayers to a vengeful god. With a crack that broke the sound barrier, Conner was snatched from the deck chair and away, face to face with a livid Superman.

* * *

"J'onn says he wants to speak with you." Batman approached the tech wing terminal Superman had taken up residence at with a small frown. Even though his presence suggested he was about to be on the receiving end of a gentle interrogation, his steady, predictable heartbeat was a reassuring addition to the soft hum of the Watchtower systems. "I was surprised when he asked me to pass that along, because I thought I told you to go home after your debriefing. Six hours ago."

Superman gave him the warmest smile he could manage, well aware that it didn't quite meet his eyes. He turned back to his screen to try. "And I did. Ma and Pa were thrilled to see me. We had pie and ice cream while they caught me up on the going ons of the farm. They're considering goats. Lois is well, too."

Cowled eyes narrowed. "You've been away for over three months. Go home."

" _I did_ . For a few hours. I just have a lot of work to do," he countered, gesturing vaguely at the screen. It was mostly a sea of uncorrelated windows: the Watchtower regularly compiled publicly (and sometimes, not so publicly) available data on persons of interest and repeat offenders. Nothing had been strung together into a series of ongoing or likely crimes yet, but if anyone was good for it, it would be Lex Luthor. "Don't worry, Flash caught me up. Not just on the last few major events, but also on all the League gossip. It's not like I need to rest as much as the average Leaguer. You know that. Besides, Lex is-"

"Dying of cancer, hiding from his enemies, and barely active in metahuman affairs, from what our inside sources are telling us. He's the definition of unurgent."

"It's Luthor," Superman insisted. "Him going quiet means he's got a project. Probably a bomb or a robot army or something. We should at least look into it."

"We're not short staffed. You're approved for the standard three weeks off. Go home."

Clark turned to him and huffed. "You're one to talk, Bruce. I could probably count the days of leave you've used in the last five years with one hand, and even then, I know you were active in Gotham-"

"Exactly, Clark. This is my thing." Something tired and dry as a good martini entered his friend's voice. "But I'm a mentally unstable orphan who dresses up like a bat and punches criminals in the night. Ignoring my own needs to obsessively pursue criminals is my default. I'd be dead if Alfred were even just a little less ruthless and a hair less tenacious. When you start stealing from my playbook, something's wrong. Why are you avoiding home?"

"Everything's fine at home."

Batman's silence manages to be both unimpressed and skeptical.

Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm just in a weird headspace right now. With the mission ending early and everything. I don't know. Maybe working my usual beats will help. Bring me back down to Earth."

Batman didn't acknowledge the attempt at a joke with anything more than a sigh. Clark's smile twitched away as his friend shoved back the cowl after a short glance at their surroundings. Meeting his eyes was harder than it had any right being. "I would agree that you're not acting like yourself, but I think we both know it's been that way since before you left. Volunteering for a five month mission while Lois is pregnant makes that abundantly clear. Tell me what's going on. Please."

He wanted to, was the thing. He really, very much wanted to.

The words died in his throat. Bruce could handle hearing anything, up to and including confirmation the apocalypse, without so much as a spike in his blood pressure, but that didn't mean Clark could bear saying this out loud. His own personal apocalypse. As much as he treasured Bruce's insight, laced with acerbic barbs and ill-timed criticism as it often was, he'd already had this conversation with him in his head a dozen times over. Bruce had likely already ballparked the problem, just not the magnitude. It was still just Clark's problem, not matter how you sliced it. His responsibility. Why force them both to have the negative experience if it wasn't going to do any good?

Besides, Bruce's feelings on the topic were… strong. Their friendship could survive an alien invasion (several, in fact), but Clark wasn't sure it could survive him screwing up this.

Clark just had to try harder from making this anyone else's problem. Stay the course. Right?

Right.

"I'm sorry," he said instead, before flying off to the zeta terminal in a burst of super speed, chest tight with enough regret to smother a small sun. "I just- can't- I mean- I should look into these rumors. You know. Confirm his base of operations."

With a booming explosion of light, he was soon flying over the dark desert and pointedly not picturing Bruce's face right now. He slowed his pace fractionally- not enough to show up on most satellites, but enough that he'd have some time to collect himself. Suddenly found himself grateful there weren't any closer zeta locations. Perhaps Lex knew all their coordinates and had done it on purpose?

There wasn't much intel on Lex's bolt hole, a small and oft-unused vacation property registered to a subsidiary of LexCorp, but they had gotten enough information to narrow it down as the most likely place he was operating out of. What he was doing was inconsequential (okay, well almost inconsequential) because it was almost certainly something.

If there was nothing obviously amiss, Superman was counting on landing nearby, putting his hands on his hips, and imitating his Ma's best disapproving I-know-what-you-did-mister look. That was usually enough to get Lex gloating (because being smarter than everyone must certainly include explaining how they're wrong) enough to let a hint to his plans slip if he'd also been drinking.

The man was like a malicious toddler sometimes.

Clark covered his face with his hands. He knew he couldn't put off going back to his and Lois' apartment forever, even if Lex really was building a robot army for whatever reason. Eventually, he'd run out of excuses or his homesickness would eclipse his dread. He wouldn't get away with visiting her at work like he had earlier today. Nestled in their apartment, in its full glory, Clark would have to confront the nursery and the toys, confront what the bulge in Lois' stomach meant, and try not to openly flinch. Hurting Lois at a time like this would be inexcusable; would surely take a toll on the baby.

Whatever the cost, he had to try and minimize that even if it meant jumping through hoops for the rest of his life.

The thought made him want to fly directly into the nearest mountain.

Speaking of another hoop to jump through… Clark sighed, glad when the wind whipped the sound away. As much as he didn't revel in anyone else's suffering, he had to admit that he'd been a little glad that Conner and M'gann had broken up again. Not only was he free of her pinched stares at the occasional family get-together (thank Rao), but Conner's resulting back-packing tour (or road trip to find himself or sulk or both) keeping him off the mission roster gave Clark more time to work on his approach.

Drinks seemed appropriate. Yeah, that could work. He'd take Conner out for drinks, like men, to give him the news about the baby. Between his long mission and Conner's travels, the question of why the news came so delayed could be neatly sidestepped. Maybe he'd bring cigars; make a show out of it, like it was a boys night he'd been planning all along because he wanted to tell Conner personally and celebrate. Clark could get through that (for an hour or two). Conner would get some of that one-on-one time with Clark he always wanted and Clark would get the chance to gauge his response and/or emotionally prepare the kid for the new addition to the family.

Like all brothers did, right?

Clark scrubbed his hands across his face. Maybe he should specifically take him to a sports bar. Conner was a lot less prone to angry outbursts these days, but maybe a lot of ambient noise and the presence of loud strangers would discourage whatever temptation there was to make a fuss. At the very least, lots of screens and cheering would give Clark plausible reasons to be too distracted to notice any subtler signs of upset. Give Conner a chance to compose himself instead of staring at him with that kicked-puppy look that made Clark's intestines clench.

A prickle of irritation flitted across his mind, but he carefully tucked it away. Conner was still figuring things out- like all young adults did, he reminded himself- but sometimes it frustrated Clark how long certain things took than others. Like keeping yourself under control so as not to harm or upset others. To be fair, it wasn't Conner's fault for struggling (it wasn't like he had the best start in life, obviously) but Clark occasionally wanted to shake him anyway and snap _how do you not understand these things yet when it is so damn obvious to the rest of us_ .

It wasn't just an important life lesson, it was the _most important_ life lesson- at least for them. Not everyone got a fair shake and Kryptonians under a yellow sun were no exception. Their abilities, in a world like this, meant that they had to shoulder more responsibility, had to absorb as many blows as possible for those around them. An obligation to stoicism. It was just how things were and sometimes Clark was tired of picking up the kid's slack. Carving out a spot for him in Clark's life had already been such a painful experience, it was hard not to resent the clone for not trying harder to meet him halfway now.

Superman took another deep breath and climbed sharply in elevation. Even thinking about Conner seemed to tap his reserves of patience. It always had.

Approaching the mountainside property from the upper atmosphere, Superman was careful to stay out of the range of most sensors. Surveillance was always worth doing and Lex wouldn't let any information slip if he had time to prepare for his arrival. He didn't see any movement, though- no armed men or machines. No staff, either, apart from Mercy sweeping the perimeter. There was a lab, but none of the equipment looked concerning. There were two figures on the rooftop deck, unarmed…

He looked closer. Blinked. Double checked.

No… it couldn't be. Lex couldn't have made a second clone in so short a time. He extended his hearing.

Conner's voice, unmistakable down to his specific acquired speech patterns. Not a new clone then, nor Match. "-not sure I want to be a hero."

Lex, without a doubt. Amused. Clark ground his teeth. "Careful there, son. That's considered heresy in some parts."

Conner chuckled. "Oh, shut up, Dad. Don't act like you disapprove. We both know better. And before you ask, no, it's not from some deeply-seeded urge to shave my head and relentlessly monologue-"

Every muscle in Clark's body tensed, every nerve ending wiring with angry alarm. He wasn't conscious of his decision to dive.


	6. Chapter 6

Conner grunted, feeling Clark's fingers dig into his shoulders in two lances of pain that spread across his nerve endings. Did it hurt all humans like this or was Clark not holding back? The wind roared in his ears, flooding him with a prickling sensation across his skin that Conner had only recently identified as cold. "Clark! Put me down! Stop!"

His "brother" ignored him.

"What are you-?" He hissed as the grip on him shifted, clamping him to the other's chest before they suddenly took off horizontally across the desert. Clark must have gripped his shoulders purely to pull him upwards and get his bearings. "Clark! Fuck, put me down!"

Clark said something, but even with his adrenaline, the surrounding noise was too much for Conner's hearing.

"I can't hear you and you're hurting me. Put me down NOW."

The starry sky disappeared abruptly. Conner hung briefly, blinking in confusion at the sudden sensation of free fall. Superman's grift shifted again; they nose-dived straight for the desert floor. Fuck, hurtling downwards (and backwards) was different when he knew the impact could actually kill him-

His feet touched the ground. Conner pried his eyes open (when had he shut them?) to see that Clark had set them on a small hill with a sandy rock outcropping, surrounded only by desert brush and silence. There were no other lights this far from town, but Conner's vision automatically compensated, increasing his headache exponentially.

(Admittedly, the small part of his brain that had irritably noticed that Clark still had at least six inches on him was a contributor. Of all the things.)

He clutched his head and hunched over. "Fuck."

"What? What's hurting you?" Clark's eyes raked across him, hunting for the damage with every kind of vision he had. "You're bruising- is it a new Kryptonite? Are we not out of range yet?"

Conner looked up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Clark demanded, taking a half step back. "What are you doing with Lex Luthor?" He took a sharp, sudden breath and spread his hands in what was probably supposed to be a placating gesture. It came across as more of a stabbing motion. "Just… did you remember anything odd? Trigger words? If he's embedded any new latent commands or if M'gann missed an old one, it'll probably be phrases that stick out of regular conversation."

Superman thought he was being mind controlled. That didn't necessarily mean J'onn hadn't sent him, but if he had, that would mean Kaldur had given up his location, but Conner was confident Kaldur would have insisted on accompanying him. Hell, if the League thought that Conner had been recaptured by Cadmus, they would have come out in force.

Why was Clark alone?

"I'm not being mind controlled." Conner ground out, hearing the rocky desert earth and dried grass crunch beneath his feet. Glanced around- not an artificial light in sight, not even headlights on a highway. They were well and truly out in the middle of nowhere. "What are you- I mean, how did you find me?"

"I wanted to look in on Luthor. He's been too quiet lately. Imagine my surprise finding you with him." Clark set his jaw, crossing his arms. "You look a little calm for anyone being blackmailed. Tell me what in Rao's name is going on. Now."

"So nobody sent you?"

"No one needed to. Explain yourself."

Conner stared at him, lost for words. Clark had just… stumbled across them?

Ah, christ.

Conner groaned and covered his face. He was too tired for this. His head was going to split open. His shoulders were agony. Whatever deity was supposed to be looking out for him must resent his existence too, because Conner's misery seemed to have summoned Clark like Boy Scout Cthulhu. Then again, it wouldn't remotely surprise him if the Luthors of generations past had made a habit of spitting on gypsies. He had to be cursed.

Clark seemed to have spent his entire short silence jumping to conclusions. His voice had likely been intended as kind but came out condescending. "Look, I know getting dumped by M'gann must have been very upsetting, but what on earth could she have said to make Lex seem-"

"That's not what happened!" Great. Conner's voice had raised. Why was he shouting?

Right. Because every part of his body was throbbing in pain and Clark was here.

(And, okay, fine, his team mates might be right, and Conner was just a shouter. He wasn't ripping his shirt off, though, so they were only half-right.)

Superman's tone wasn't far behind. "Then what did happen? Because I don't hear you explaining a damn-"

"She didn't dump me," Conner snapped, before realizing that it was the most petulant, least relevant part of Clark's statement to address first. Oh, well. As much as he knew he should pick his battles, he was suddenly livid and picking all of them. "Do you really think I wound up here in some sort of move to spite M'gann? This has nothing to do with her. You really think I'm that immature?"

Clark hissed sharply through his teeth and clenched his fists at his side. "I know your brain might not be able to physically mature past sixteen-"

" _Really, Clark_ ?"

"What am I supposed to think? You break up, disappear off the face of the planet, and then I find you here being chummy with Lex Luthor? Promising you'll stop being a superhero-"

Conner's outrage spilled out of his throat in a gutteral snarl. " _I did not promise_ -"

Cape snapping sharply in the wind, Clark stabbed a finger at him. "I have told you, not once, but _a thousand times_ not to trust him! You know better than to listen to a single promise he makes. It's like you don't listen. What did he offer you? Money? Power? Did his experiments on you give you those bruises? Or did he play the 'sad old man dying of cancer' card, because as terrible as a condition as it is, it won't stop him from using it to get whatever he wants from you!"

"I'm not here on some sort of bullshit pity tour for Lex!"

"Well, then what are you doing with him?" Clark bellowed. "Why are you hidden out here in his secret house and calling him Dad?"

Conner spread his arms. "Because he is my dad!"

The wind shrieked gently as it wound it's way around the outcropping. The dazzlingly starry sky, which he had been so enamored by not even twenty minutes ago, was now the backdrop to the thundering silence that rent the short distance between them in half.

Conner's second genetic donor's face could have been made of stone. "Do you even understand what it is you're saying? What you've betrayed? _I gave you my family_ ."

"Bullshit."

Conner's back slammed into the outcropping. He gasped and cried out, feeling the sharp stones dig into the recently vulnerable flesh along his spine, Superman's arm slung across his shoulders like a metal bar. "How dare you speak of them as though they don't matter. As though they didn't welcome you with open arms, when all you were-"

"Was your defective clone?" Conner bit out. The arm across his chest loosened, Clark's expression fading into something like disgusted pity. Wow. Something that could curdle his stomach worse than his disappointment. He hadn't thought it was possible. "No, go on. Say it."

Clark moved off of him and let out a harsh exhale. "Conner. We've been through this. I thought you moved past this. Your life matters every bit as much-"

"Of course it does. You respect all life, blah, blah, blah." Conner's voice wasn't mean or cold. He didn't have the energy. It was hushed, like a poisonous secret being extracted from the pit of his soul. He'd kept these thoughts shoved down for so long, releasing them into the night filled him with a bitter sort of relief. "But you don't want me in your family. You pretend you do, and I've pretended too, but we're both not very good at it and I'm too tired to try anymore."

"Kon-El-"

"Don't." Conner grit his teeth, feeling his eyes sting and barely noticing. "The baby made me see it."

Clark's eyes shuttered. "This is about the baby."

"No. This is about the family. Your family. And how I'm not really in it."

"Conner, you're my brother-"

"Sure. Who you never told that you were going to have a kid. I'm your brother who found out because I saw Lois with my infrared vision, on my way to visit your parents. I stopped by. You know, to apologize for risking them by taking the Team to shelter in their barn." His eyes felt hot. Conner knew enough about angry tears not to mistake it for heat vision, no matter what false expectations the G-gnomes had implanted. "They were standing in the driveway, congratulating her and giving her baby clothes. An early shower gift- they'd bring more to the actual party, of course. Guess I missed the happy announcement."

Clark actually shut his eyes, as though Conner had hit him. "I-"

"Don't. I told you, you're not very good at pretending. Never were. You weren't when you avoided me for the first year of my life. You weren't when you wouldn't let me use your name for two years after that. You weren't when you waited as long as possible to introduce me to Ma, Pa, and Lois. You weren't good at pretending when you wouldn't leave me alone in a room with them or got upset when they asked for my phone number so we could communicate directly. You weren't good at pretending like you weren't bothered when Ma asked for photos of me for the family albums." Conner dragged a burning arm across his arms. "And you know what? I tried to pretend too. I was so tired of being alone, of not even having memories of a family to love, that I was willing to go along with whatever half-assed, guilt-ridden effort you wanted to make. I played along. Backed every lie you told. I didn't use your name, I followed your lead. I didn't correct the impression you gave them that I was only recently discovered by the League, even though I was three years old. I didn't say anything when you introduced me as your modified twin. I was careful not to contradict any of your bullshit or text them too much or even visit them without you, all so you wouldn't be unhappy with me-"

"I never asked you not to-"

"You didn't have to ask!" Conner howled. "I knew you didn't want me to! My membership in the Kent family has always been entirely dependent on how you felt about me every week; to be rescinded at your whim. I did everything you wanted me to, let you cram me into whatever box in your head you could safely tolerate my existence in, but it still wasn't enough to be loved even a little bit because you didn't want me in the first place ."

"We got off to a rough start," Clark snapped. "I won't deny it, but I came around. I mentored you, but obviously I didn't teach you enough or you didn't listen-"

"You didn't come around! You ran out of excuses! I obviously wasn't under the Light's control when I helped free the League from exactly that, so if you kept rejecting me, everyone would know it wasn't for a good reason. You let me into your life out of guilt and shame and because Batman made you do it. You forget that I'm the only other person who can hear your heartbeat. I knew how you felt every time I walked into a room. I just kept hoping it would get better." Conner felt himself run out of steam again. "Seeing the baby just forced me to admit the scariest part to myself."

Clark scowled. "That you're not my child?"

"That all that time I spent trying to change myself was wasted." Conner gave him a tight, almost apologetic shrug. "I'm not defective. You are."

"You think this is me?" Clark snarled, gesturing to himself. "This isn't me. You want the truth? It's you. I hate the way I get around you. The way I become. It doesn't happen with anyone else- just you- and I hate it. I hate feeling like this. No matter how hard I try, just being near you is like standing by a mental black hole-" Clark pinched the bridge of his nose, cutting himself off. Took a deep breath while he reigned himself in visibly. "I'm... sorry. That was poorly phrased."

"It was honest, you just didn't like it."

Clark actually bared his teeth. "You know what? Fine. I will take all of the blame. I'm sorry Lex and Cadmus made you without my consent and that you don't have all my powers. I'm sorry that I didn't take it perfectly when you were sprung on me and I'm sorry that it all hurt your feelings. I'm sorry I found a way to make room for you in my life once I realized you weren't some ticking time bomb or a lunatic. I'm sorry my guilt wasn't pure enough for your tastes. I'm sorry me and my family weren't good enough for you."

Conner took in a short, sharp breath. "Stop it. Stop this weird, guilt burden thing you keep trying to do. I won't take it."

"It's not-" Superman pressed his palms together in front of himself as though praying for patience. "Let me try to explain this again. We're special. Our gifts make us unique, so our place in the world is unique. We have responsibilities that others don't have, and those responsibilities are more important that our individual needs-"

"My existence is not my fault," Conner cried. "I didn't ask for this."

"Well, tough cookies, because neither did I!" Clark snapped. His hands stabbed the air. "I don't get to have my life the way I want it either! I don't get most things I want because my responsibilities to the world mean that I can't. I'm sorry, I really am, that you were thrust into this world the way you were and that this is what you get. I don't like it either. Hell, I even wanted to protect you from it when I pushed you away, but if you wear the El crest, then you have to take the responsibility. We live for others. It's just how it is."

"This again?" Conner shrugged listlessly and dragged the back of his hand across his face. It came away bloody. He didn't bother investigating it. "Whatever, Clark. It won't matter for very long anyway."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Clark's face creased, shoulders stiffening. "What are you two planning?"

Of course. Clark would suspect a plot. No, worse: he needed a plot. Anything except having to confront Conner or his own mistakes.

"I'm dying."

"What?"

Conner shook his head, blowing out a breath that made every injury flare. "Ask J'onn about it. He can give you the details. There's nothing that can be done. I'm dying from a bad case of defective Cadmus clone. Lex is trying to cure me because I'm the only kid he'll ever have, but you know what? I don't even think it's going to work. He just needs a project to keep him busy and I don't want to die alone, so I'm just going home and die with my dad."

"Okay, okay," Clark said, sweeping his hands gently in circular motion. His rage evaporated like drops of sweat against the desert floor. "Next time lead with that. Let's just table what we were talking about before. That's- we can get back to that stuff later. We need to get you back to the Watchtower-"

"I've been to the Watchtower. J'onn diagnosed me. Lex confirmed. I stopped taking in solar energy, my cells stopped replicating correctly, and now my organs are failing. I've got maybe a few months, assuming I don't take any new damage." Conner glanced down at his blood and dirt streaked arms. "And I'm not very good at that."

"Shit." It was the first time Conner had ever heard him use that word. He almost laughed. The Boy Scout said something worse than 'damn'. Clark opened and closed his fists as though remembering the way he'd sntached Conner from the deck chair. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize- I- Let me call J'onn for transport."

"I don't want to go back to the Watchtower. I told you. They can't do anything."

"Then we get a second opinion!" Clark snapped. His hands went to his hips, then dropped. Jerked a belated hand at the dark sky. "Or a third, if we count Lex's."

"Who else could possibly treat me?"

"I don't know. Bruce can hire more scientists or something. Find other experts. We'll pour over the Cadmus notes we subpoenaed-"

Conner glanced towards the direction they'd come. "Lex literally wrote half of those himself-"

"Then I'll talk to Dr. Fate!" Clark visibly reigned himself in, glaring down at the ground. "There is always something we can do. We just have to find it."

Conner stared at him, unsure where Clark's concern was coming from and uncertain if he cared. Scratch that: he definitely didn't have the energy to care. "Okay, Clark. You do that. I want to stay with Lex."

Clark sucked in a deep breath, eyes tight. His voice was carefully and deliberately neutral. "I understand that you are angry with me right now, but you can't stay out here with him."

"Sure I can. I'm an adult and he's my dad."

"You are six years old-"

Conner snorted. "I wasn't when you decided I could live alone with a teenage girl, supervised by an android with only a passing grip on human customs." Sighed, glanced up at the stars. "Look, I know you don't trust him. Honestly, neither do I. I'm not an idiot. Give him enough rope and he'll hang you with it. I'm half expecting him to pull a secret lever one of these days, dropping me into a pit of kryptonite enhanced alligators."

"Then why in Rao's name do you keep insisting I take you back to him?"

Conner shrugged, struggling for words. "He's a narcissistic trainwreck of a person, but he doesn't make me feel like I should apologize for existing."

Clark flinched.

"I get it. I'm the lab equivalent of a rape baby. I always understood that, I just thought you might want me someday, but you don't. You lied to be nice or to look nice, but all that did was make me think something was wrong with me." Conner rubbed his face again. "So just dump me back on Lex's doorstep. I'll be his problem. Our fucked up relationship is weird and complicated, but we don't pretend otherwise. He doesn't have enough shame to bother. I haven't forgotten all the things he's done. He isn't a good person or even a good dad, but I like having one and he's mine."

"That's not good enough!"

"It is for me," Conner snorted. Crossed his arms to ward off the chill of the wind. "Maybe the bar shouldn't be that low, but it is. He wants to be my dad, so I might as well let him."

"Being a father is more than donating genetic material," Clark said, very gently and slowly, almost as though speaking to a wounded animal. Conner didn't miss the way his hand crept towards his communicator, but he didn't try to stop him from initiating the medical emergency channel. "It's so much more than that. It's about care and providing support while teaching a child to be strong. It's about patience and commitment and love. Instilling a sense of right and wrong. Lex can't give you that- in fact, I don't think I can give you that. I don't think I can give anyone that. Pa can, though; that's why I wanted him to be your dad too."

Conner grimaced, leaning back against the outcropping with a wince. "That's stupid thought wrapped in a nice one. Why do you always do that?"

"Conner-"

"That stuff sounds great, but being a father isn't some achievement. It's not even a responsibility. You just have a kid. That's it. Lots don't even do it on purpose."

"When did you get so jaded?" Clark shook his head. "Never mind. It's okay. You're just- it's a tough time for you right now-"

"Shut up, Clark. Stop making excuses."

Clark clenched his fists at his side. "I'm trying to be understanding-"

"No, you're trying to nice your way over the truth to make everything better on the surface. It doesn't work. It never works. Just stop."

"Fine!" Clark spread his hands wide. "What do you want from me? Seriously? Just tell me what you need in order to agree not to go back to Lex and to come get medical treatment at the Watchtower."

"Nothing."

"I don't believe that!" Clark started pacing. "You always want something from me. Always. It's always something I can't- fine. You're my son. Is that what you want to hear?"

"It's true whether or not you say it out loud." Conner shrugged, helplessly. "I really don't want anything from you."

"Why?"

"Because I'm dying, Clark." Great. They were back to shouting. Frankly, Conner was astounded his diaphragm had found the energy for it. "It took dying for me to stop wanting anything from you. It doesn't matter what you can or want to give me, because _I don't want you_ ."

Clark stared at him, unmoving.

"I don't want pity, I don't want guilt, and I don't want you." Conner tipped his head back against the rock. His voice was rough. Thick. "That's why I did what I did. Why I broke up with M'gann, left the Team, and went off into the desert to die alone without so much as a phone call. Figured it would be over before you got back. Hoped it would. I thought dying would be easier this way, but it's not; it's harder, and more painful than I expected and I'm scared and I want my-" his voice broke. Conner covered his face.

"Conner…."

"Just go," he groaned. The distant whine of a League medi-craft rose above the wind. Conner opened his eyes and glanced up. It would land in a few seconds. "I might not see the other side of seven, but I'm old enough to sign the denial of treatment form myself. They can give me a ride back to Lex."

He half expected more arguing. Instead, after a moment had stretched and the mechanical whirring drew closer, there was a flutter of a cape and Conner was alone.

* * *

Lex hurled the petri dish at the wall, furious shout clawing out of his chest as he watched it shatter and fall to the tile. Incensed green eyes lasered in on the row of test tubes still on the counter. He backhanded them onto the floor for good measure. As far as displays of temper went, nothing was more tactile-y satisfying than breaking glass. Why mess with a classic?

Nothing. A week of barely sleeping, barely eating- just tests, tests and more tests. Scribbled writing on his whiteboard, his data pad, on his fucking napkins. His tests, as far as he could run them, gave him nothing.

Nothing actionable. Nothing helpful. Nothing he didn't already know.

Upstairs, tucked into his bed he couldn't bear to rise from this morning, his legacy ebbed away.

Conner was dying because his body couldn't begin to cellularly repair itself or replicate undamaged DNA. His body couldn't begin to repair itself because it wasn't taking in any energy. Despite eating enough to put a buffet out of business, Conner's body couldn't keep up with the demand, because his solar energy absorption had all but halted for _no apparent reason_ .

Lex swiveled to glare at his data screen. Nothing had changed, of course. Same readouts. Same dead end, but now he was running out of time.

This was all Superman's fault. Conner had been sparse with the details, but when he'd been snatched from the deck faster than a speeding bullet only to be returned three hours later by a stiff-faced Batman and Martian Manhunter, it hadn't been too hard to put together the gist. Whatever conversation his son had been dreading with Superman had occurred and for whatever reason it had gotten physical. Even if it hadn't been severe, with Conner's health as vulnerable as it was, it hadn't taken much.

His condition had gone downhill pretty rapidly from there.

The Big Blue Bastard really couldn't help himself, could he? It was like a bizarre sort of magnetic force, the way he seemed to draw to Lex's misery and pride in equal measures. His legacy was literally Superman's biological child and he couldn't avoid ruining it for Lex with his good intentions alone.

At this rate, kryptonite cancer or no, Lex was going to outlive his son.

The trek upstairs was made more arduous by the utter silence of the cabin. While those were his usual preferred working conditions (to the point where any personal assistants with even pen-clicking habits were immediately fired), he'd grown accustomed to the noises of this other strange being who shared his space. The static on the TV, the opening and shutting of doors, the chattering directed at the overgrown dog, even. Now the cabin was as silent as a funeral home before the ceremony; trapped in pause like the inhale before a gasp, waiting.

Mercy met him outside of the bedroom door, expression as unchanged as ever. "There has been a new development in subject designated: Conner, Mr. Luthor."

"Report."

"My scans confirm his kidneys have joined his liver in early to mid level failure. Body temperature still unstable. Nausea is persistent and fluids will need to be administered intravenously. Neurological symptoms are suspected, but unable to confirm."

"Why not?"

"Conner responds to all queries with 'not now' and 'go away'. Pet designated: Wolf is now too agitated to allow me within range to perform more than surface scans. Am I still under orders not to use force?"

"That's correct." Lex rubbed his cheek. The last thing he needed to deal with on top of the Brain's damn science mutt was his own damn science mutt's offense about any injuries to the first. If he was even lucid enough. "I'll check his mental status myself, Mercy. There's a mess in my lab. Handle it and then bring me a drink."

"Yes, Mr. Luthor."

The door eased open under his fingertips, revealing a dim bedroom. Despite the large windows lining the opposite edge of the room, no sunlight made it past the tightly drawn curtains nor were any of the lamps illuminated. Lex frowned and flicked the light on, getting one good look at the pale, shivering teenager-sized body half draped atop Wolf and probably taking refuge in his body heat.

"Off…" Conner groaned. "Turn it off."

Wolf gave a warning grumble.

Lex complied with a grimace and strode to the attached bathroom, activating the switch there and ignoring the moans that elicited as he half shut the door. As hoped, it provided enough ambient light for him to get his bearings. "A compromise. My vision isn't as good as yours."

"My vision isn't good at all," Conner countered, half muffled by fur.

"Light sensitivity, I take it." Lex studied him from the side of the bed. Despite the sweaty strands of hair clinging to his forehead, Conner's body shivered where it was already half twisted in the blankets. Dark circles ringed the skin under his eyes, made more prominent by the pallor of the surrounding skin. It shouldn't have been possible for him to lose so much weight in under a week, and yet, here Lex was, counting Conner's ribs underneath an array of purple bruising and wondering if his body had begun cannibalizing muscle tissue yet. "At least you're awake."

"Can't sleep. Not my fault-" Conner broke off and let out a soft whine. Even Wolf looked down at him in surprise at the sound.

"What is it?"

"I think I'm going to throw up again. I don't want to throw up again."

Lex couldn't help his dry chuckle. "Yeah, that's the usual sentiment. How much water have you had since I saw you last?"

Conner didn't answer, just shifted under his blankets, struggling to draw them up. Lex leaned over and helped him pull them around his legs, giving Wolf a sharp glance to match his faint rumble.

Lex settled into the reading chair Mercy had dragged beside the bed, wondering where the hell she was with his drink. "I called a staffing service," he said, absently. "They'll have a small team of nurses here by tonight. I have another contractor bringing in specialized medical equipment for you. Wolf won't fit on the bed-"

A warning growl.

"-but I'll see what we can work out," Lex concluded, with a glance. "In proper Luthor fashion, I expect you to drive off at least three nurses with verbal abuse and demanding behavior by nightfall. Considering your condition, however, I'm willing to grant you a week's extension."

That didn't earn him the snort he thought it would.

"Conner?"

Wolf nudged the dark head with his muzzle, keening softly. Lex felt like a bucket of ice had been poured over his head.

Conner sucked in a breath and groaned. "Sorry. 'id I fall 'sleep? When didya get 'ere?"

Lex's heart sank. As Conner had seemed reasonably coherent when he'd come in, he'd more or less discounted Mercy's neurological concerns as the android's limited understanding of human behavior. "Conner, what day is it?"

He almost thought he wouldn't respond. "Tuesday?" Conner turned to face him for the first time. Lex was jarred by the fever-bright darkness of his eyes, the way he clutched his arms close to his chest. "Kaldur is… lunch. Gotta meet 'im…" he slurred.

"That was nearly two days ago. It's Thursday," Lex said softly. "Don't you remember?"

"Hm?"

Lex reached forward, his fingers skimming over the sweat-soaked bangs clinging to his forehead. The skin beneath them was clammy, fever slick and oddly cold. "You weren't feeling well enough to go into town. You ached all over. You were cold and hungry and tired, but you could get out of bed, so you had him come visit you here. The two of you sat on the front deck, in the sunshine. He brought you coffee from your usual place."

Conner's brows furrowed. "He came here?"

"Only for a few hours. You were too tired to visit longer than that. He'll come again tomorrow."

"M'kay. 'f you say so."

Lex dug his fingers into the rounded arms of the chair, to ease the mad impulse to run to the windows and rip the blinds open. To send sun cascading over as many square inches of Conner's skin as possible, in the hopes that even just a little bit of the radiation would penetrate the cells and fix something. Anything.

It wouldn't do any good. Lex could put Conner beneath an industrial sunlamp and have no luck- the equivalent to surrounding someone without a mouth with food. There was no way to force his cells to use what they were given. If Conner's DNA had failed him- if Lex had failed him- there was no point. All the solar radiation in the world, all the stem cells he could ask for, would only delay the inevitable because unless his hybrid body could suddenly maintain that trajectory, it would be only a temporary victory.

Conner's failure to reliably form memories suggested several things medically, all of which coalesced into one urgent fact: his brain was jumping on the organ failure train. In these early stages, the damage wasn't going to be permanent… probably.

Nothing about Conner's biology was one hundred percent predictable and Lex was already dealing with an accelerated timeline, thanks to He Who Could Not Be Maimed.

Conner needed a cure, and he needed it now.

Perhaps Lex needed to reexamine the viability of putting him in stasis. They'd discussed it before and Conner had given him a flat no despite Lex's many logical arguments in favor of it. Be that as it may, the fact remained that Conner was in no position to do anything about it if Lex decided to anyway, to buy time for himself to come up with a viable plan.

Actually, technically, all Lex had strictly promised was not to flash freeze him. What about a medical coma? With a hint of stasis technology…. Yes, that might work, and technically toe the line of what he'd promised his son. He'd be angry, but he'd be alive. Something similar to his pod at Cadmus would be simple enough to set up, though he could probably lose the G-gnomes, the solar suit, and high efficiency ultra-spectrum sun lamps. They'd be unneeded, even if it was tempting to see if the same method used to cram decades worth of top quality solar exposure into sixteen weeks of incubation could also-

Wait. Lex plucked the tail of that thought before it could escape his grasp. It unfurled sharply, like a segment of rotting fruit falling away from the whole. Oh. It wasn't confirmed- it might not be in every test case… but if hybrid Kryptonian cells did...

Oh, no.


	7. Chapter 7

Superman frowned at the bay entrance as the small medical response craft landed, powering down with a sharp cessation of it's thrusters. As soon as the bay door was shut, it's main boarding hatch opened and the ramp extended. Martian Manhunter solemnly levitated the yellow stretcher behind him, while a medical assistant checked the bags and lines already running to the patient below. Superman didn't spare a glance for the other figures trailing behind; his eyes riveted on the wan, dark head peeking out from the emergency blanket wrapped around him.

"What happened?" he demanded, alighting in front of the stretcher and turning to J'onn for answers as soon as he realized Conner's eyes were shut. "Did he change his mind?"

J'onn gave him a steady look and shook his head. "That is difficult to answer. He has yet to be properly lucid and I cannot be sure he even understands where he is right now."

"But he called," Superman insisted, hovering in sync with the small procession. "The communicator Batman gave him logged a call an hour ago. If he didn't request evacuation-"

"I called."

Superman whipped around to see Lex Luthor. He trailed behind Wolf, somehow looking more disheveled than he had on the deck a week ago. His stubble had grown thick and almost beardlike, the dark circles under his eyes were nearly as prominent as the ones under Conner's. Gone was his full business suit, leaving only a rumpled white shirt, half open to reveal his containment vest, and a creased pair of black slacks- all of which had been slept in for at least two days, his sense of smell assured him (though he doubted anyone needed super senses to glean that). He looked about as wrecked as Clark felt. With a slosh of its contents, the former CEO of LexCorp dug out a flask from his pocket and took a short swig.

Clark sucked in a deep breath and didn't allow himself the indulgence of an open scowl. "Luthor. I thought you were determined to keep him away from us for the rest of his life. What's changed?"

"First of all, I did no such thing. He makes his own decisions. I can only take credit for encouraging some of them." Lex's look was cool, but that did little to conceal the hostility swirling just under the surface. "Secondly, you're what's changed. I don't need to hear whatever excuses you've prepared for your manhandling of him, but it battered his organs internally and accelerated his condition significantly. I hope you're proud of yourself."

"I didn't even know he was sick! I was trying to help him." Superman jabbed a finger at him.

"Well, he certainly looks helped, doesn't he?"

"You-" Superman set his jaw and moved to halt Lex, stopping him short and drawing himself up to his full height. "No further. Not another step. You shouldn't be here. Conner can stay-and I promise we will take excellent care of him- but you have no business on the Watchtower. The last thing I'm going to let you do is use the opportunity to plant a virus or whatever else you've got up your sleeve."

"I'm not here to do anything except keep my damn kid alive." Lex clenched his fists, but his smile was slow and venomous. "You know, as much as I've always accused you of being a cold hearted alien with a human fetish, I really did think you'd put more effort into not harming your own child. I shudder to think of you holding an infant-"

Clark was suddenly nose to nose with the other man. "Get. Out."

Martian Manhunter and the medical assistant both halted, the stretcher floating uncertainly between them as they took in the fist-fight waiting to happen. As much as Conner needed to be in a medical room yesterday, the fact remained that Superman could snap Luthor like a glow stick before anyone could realistically intervene.

Lex, of course, seemed immune to all signals that he should stop talking. "Not a chance. Conner needs me-"

"No, he needs absolutely anyone else but you. His real friends and family," Superman said, folding his arms and staring down at him. "Not some selfish lunatic who convinced him to delay treatment so you could play house with him. I won't let you use him like this. I won't allow you to prey on him any longer."

"I don't want to prey on him, you imbecile. I'm trying to save him. Why do you think I'd be willing to step foot on this floating ode to-"

"You didn't care about his quality of life when you made him, so what in Rao's name makes you think I'd believe you care now?" Superman nearly trembled with the effort not to grab Lex and pitch him back up the ramp of the ship. "Leave. Now."

"Superman."

Batman's voice sliced through the moment like a knife through twisted cord. Superman blinked and turned to look behind him, realizing a small crowd had gathered to witness the altercation. The last thing they needed was more gossip, but Superman was nearly beyond caring at the moment. What arrested his attention was the rigid set to Batman's jaw. Years of knowing the man meant Superman could correctly equate it to the thunderous, teeth grinding scowl it would manifest as on anyone else's face.

Seeing it directed at him was like being slapped with kryptonite.

"J'onn, medical room thirteen has been prepped. Please proceed," Batman said, with a sharp nod to the floating stretcher. It began moving immediately, the crowd parting to make space. "Luthor, you may accompany him while he's being situated."

"You can't be-" Superman ground out, as Lex triumphantly strode around him.

"League protocol dictates that civilian next-of-kin and immediate family members are permitted in the medical bay while the situation remains below a class six emergency." Batman turned back to the crowd, giving Flash a pointed look. "The situation is under control," he announced to the bystanders, barely needing to raise his voice in order to command their attention. "You are all blocking access. Disperse."

As a red flicker suddenly began darting around and cheerfully redirecting League members and personnel alike, Batman turned his cowl's white, narrowed eyes back to him. "A word, Superman."

Superman felt his eyes blaze as Luthor caught up with the stretcher, disappearing as the entire group rounded a distant corner. "He-"

"In private. Now."

* * *

The world was hazy and dull, full of bright lights and loud sounds he couldn't make out but sent thudding waves of pain through his head. He was moving? Flying? He knew for certain he was on his back, he could feel it pressed up against something hard, but it wasn't cold enough. It was so hot, he couldn't stop shivering-

Everything shifted suddenly. The thing he was laying on disappeared and he found himself on a new surface. Softer. Wider.

"Please relax, Conner." J'onn's voice said. Something sort of heavy draped over him- something that inspired a memory of Kaldur- right, that cooling vest, only in the form of a blanket, settling over him. His feverish body calmed. His relief was short lived. Sharp pricks of pain made him gasp, signaling needles being inserted into his arms. "That should be more comfortable for you."

UV lights flashed on abruptly, directed at him. He flinched.

Why was J'onn here? Conner felt his face crumple and let out of wet exhale, unwilling to open his eyes for more pain. He was at the Watchtower- the only place he didn't want to be. He'd signed the papers saying he didn't want to go but somehow they didn't listen. How did this happen? His dad promised to take care of him, to keep his friends from watching him die while Conner was trapped in space and pain-

There was a ragged cry. It took a few seconds for Conner to realize it was coming from himself. "Dad."

"I'm right here," Lex said. Conner felt a pressure in his hand, squeezing. "Everything's fine."

"'m at the Watchtower…"

"I called them. I figured out what's wrong with you. Trust me, I hate being here every bit as much as you do but they have what you need. I'm here to make them give it to you."

"Don't want… my friends'll see…."

"This again?" The hand on his patted it. "Don't worry, Wolf will bite all extraneous visitors." The was an affirmative woof. "To give the mutt his credit, he knows his strengths…."

If he finished that thought, Conner missed it as he slid back out of consciousness.

* * *

The auxiliary monitor room was rarely used, but quite secure- as it really only became necessary during periods of high alert and given how it was tucked into a less used corridor of the main area of the tower, it was unlikely that they'd be stumbled on or interrupted. The flickering lights on the panels danced as Batman turned to face him.

"What the hell was that?" Clark demanded before Bruce could get into it. "It's Luthor. _Luthor._ We have no guarantees he didn't get Conner sick in the first place, if it isn't a hybridization failure. This could all be part of some plan-"

"Of course it might," Batman snapped. "That's why every means of surveillance has been trained on Lex since he stepped foot on our medical shuttle, much less arrived at the Watchtower. It's why Mercy wasn't permitted on board with him. It's why Conner won't be left unattended with him for so much as a bathroom break. He could easily be up to something heinous. That's obvious, but what isn't obvious is what in the ever living hell is wrong with you?"

Superman pointed to the bay they'd come from in outrage; even if Bruce couldn't see through walls, he'd get the gist. "What do you mean? You heard what he was saying-"

"Yes. It was the same asinine posturing and cheap shots he normally employs when nervous, drunk, or scared, only he typically doesn't get this much traction. We both know he has said far, far worse to you without you so much as batting an eyelash. If he's gotten under your skin, it happened before you almost attacked him in full view of a dozen witnesses, so again, I'll ask you, what is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with me?" Superman demanded. He couldn't believe it. "How is it not obvious? Conner is dying and it's Lex's fucking fault and he wants to roll in here with him and play daddy-"

"Let him. He's grieving, even if it's selfishly. Bad parents are still parents; Conner didn't seem to mind when I took him back to Lex's bolt house. He had less to say about your argument than you did, but it's not hard to guess which topics you disagree on." Bruce pinched the bridge of the cowl's nose. "As much as we all hate Lex, letting him stay is a necessity. He's run more tests on Conner than anyone and has brought all of that data here. He's an expert on his genome. He's providing us Cadmus research we didn't recover when we raided the labs. Also, unfortunate as it is, Conner is his dying son. If even a scrap of that sorrow is real, I'd expect you to compassionately-"

Superman choked, pressing his hands to his mouth. "It's you too."

Batman hesitated as the other man snatched up the nearest chair. "Clark…"

"I'm so sick of it," Superman snarled, hurling it against the glass. Nothing shattered, of course; it was over two feet thick and designed to keep the interior safe from the vacuum of space even if a star exploded beside it. The chair still thunked satisfyingly against it and clattered the ground, crumpled where his hands had gripped the metal. "I'm so sick of everyone expecting me to be perfect every minute of the fucking day!"

"No one expects you to be perfect."

"Bullshit," Clark said with far more vehemence than either of them expected. The profanity tasted so pleasant on his tongue, somehow more so because he could feel the weight of his cape. "That's utter bullshit. Everyone expects it. I'm not allowed to _be_ otherwise, because my powers make people afraid. Even you, don't deny it. I can lose fights, but not my temper. Every time I screw up or act impatient or furious or normal, suddenly there's _news conferences_ and Lex Luthor gets interviewed on prime time to discuss whether it's ethical or permissible for me _to exist._ "

Batman studied him, shoulders tense. "The pressures of the spotlight are hard, but nothing new. You signed up for this when you took charge of the League. We discussed what it would mean."

"I know that! Do you think I don't know that? For a long time, I could handle it, because I had Clark Kent to fall back on. Every time the pressure of being Superman began to be too much for me, I'd put on my glasses and suddenly I could breathe again. Clark gets to be uncertain and impatient and judgey all he wants. He gets to be chronically tardy and dodge hard assignments and complain about the coffee in the breakroom without anyone issuing an international statement in condemnation or support. Coffee bean farmers in Peru won't lose their jobs because Clark Kent doesn't like Folgers or whatever. Everyone might get annoyed, but it doesn't make them hate him. He's just a person. For whatever portion of the day I got to be him, I could keep my sanity. It wasn't foolproof, but I had this completely separate life that was just for me and then…."

Batman sighed. "And then Conner was… born."

"Exactly. That one thing keeping me sane, I had to give up for a kid I didn't want. Suddenly Superman wasn't off the clock when he went home because Conner and his kicked-puppy-eyes followed me there, even when I wouldn't give him the time of day." Clark let out a ragged exhale and folded his arms. Stepped back to lean against the wall, feeling it steady him.

"It's a struggle," Bruce agreed. "But an unavoidable one. Look around the League. Look at the fact that the Team itself came to exist. There is an intersection that cannot be prevented, between our personal, family lives and our professional ones. I can't think of a single hero who wanted their children to follow them into this work, but rather was forced to accept that these worlds aren't separate. Not forever."

"I needed it to be. I really needed it to be." Clark dragged a hand across his face, scrubbing at it. "And then it wasn't and before I could figure out what to do about that, everyone had cast me as a villain. I wasn't perfect immediately. That was my crime."

"Clark. Don't you think that's a little-"

"Don't you get it? Everyone judged me for not diving headfirst into fatherhood with zero warning, including you. Like, most guys get nine months and I got nothing. I didn't even realize I was his genetic father! I thought he was my clone- you know, like a twin? Even when we found out he was half human later, my mind went to 'modified twin', not son. But everyone made up their minds overnight. Within a week, I was a deadbeat dad. Not only was I stuck frantically trying to figure out if he was going to kill me or infiltrate the League, much less if he had a soul or a personality, or what this would all mean for Clark Kent and Lois, but everyone was disgusted with me. Condemning me. Even you! Like it should have been simple or easy to become a father in less time than it takes to prepare a sandwich."

Batman remained silent, jaw working.

"I had to deal with all the painful parts alone," Clark dragged out. "Because no one I talked to had any sympathy. They'd already decided what I should do and I hadn't already done it. Not only did my genes get stolen and raped for science _again,_ but I wasn't allowed to be upset about it. Superman isn't supposed to be a victim. People can't even wrap their heads around it and, at first, neither could I. I didn't understand what was happening or what it all meant and it was terrifying and I couldn't ask anyone for help. Not even you." He slid down the wall, glaring at his boots. "But I didn't do it perfectly, so I'm still hearing about it. To my dying day, I will hear about it."

"I'm sorry. You're right. That was… unfair to expect of you the way we did." Batman took in a sharp inhale. His boots clicked softly on the metal floor as he came to stand beside him. "We're too comfortable piling pressure on top of you without asking ourselves if it's reasonable. Of not being as understanding of you as we demand you to be of everyone else. Your friends failed you. I failed you."

"Is it messed up that I'm more disappointed in myself?" Clark shrugged and covered his eye sockets with his palms, digging his fingers into his hair. "I feel so guilty all the time. Like I should have been perfect and adopted him right away. Everyone else thought so. I already felt awful for hurting him. He was twenty minutes old and he looked up at me with that proud-hopeful face, and I reacted with visible horror. _He was a newborn, Bruce_. What apology covers that? 'Sorry, I had no idea what was happening and was surrounded by every colleague I had and I wish I'd had the chance to panic in private.' It won't help him. Even if I could've overcome the shock of it all to step up to parent him, how could've I trusted myself to? I made him need months of therapy the very first minute we met _because I looked at him wrong_." Clark dragged in a breath. "Rao help me, I still tried to make him a part of my life. Tried to give him a family. Tried to make this situation something I could live with. He could be such a pain without meaning to and I didn't want to deal with him most days, but I told myself that everyone was right and that I just needed to try harder. It didn't work. He isn't better off at all. He hates me, Bruce. He's dying and he hates me and I can't fix any of it."

Bruce eased to the floor beside him, crossing his legs. "He doesn't hate you. He's hurt and angry, but that's not hate. Not yet."

"He told me to get away from him when I went to save him from Lex last week. That he didn't want anything to do with me." Superman gave his friend a humorless smile. "It's all such a mess. Everything in my life is broken and now I have to deal with Lex while Conner dies and still be perfect. Without disappointing everyone. It's impossible, but I still have to do it. I thought Conner would have to learn to live like this too, but he'll be saved from all this unwanted responsibility by death. Lucky him, right?"

Bruce pulled off his cowl, dark eyes meeting his. He put his hand on Clark's arm. "Listen to me. You don't have to be perfect, Clark. Not even as Superman. The world won't fall apart."

Clark folded his arms, throat working. "I wish that were true."

"It is true. Like it or not, Connor's arrival was a double edged sword. It did a lot of damage to you, yes, but it also proved something else." Bruce's hand gripped his arm, shaking it gently. "You're right about everyone judging you harshly. Everyone thought you were a huge asshole."

Clark let out a despairing snort. "Thanks, Bruce. You really know how to raise a guy's spirits."

"My point is," Bruce continued. "you weathered that. You didn't lose any friends. The world didn't explode. The League didn't demand you step down. No one trusts Superman less to save them from burning buildings because his relationship with his illegal-clone-kid is fraught. Your parents didn't disown you-"

"They don't know," Clark admitted, voice low. He'd never been to a confession booth, but he supposed this small dark room was kind of like one. If he stretched his imagination, Batman's dark cape could pass for the cloth of a priest. His steady, familiar heartbeat like the recitation of a well worn prayer. "They don't know he's my son. I told them he was my twin. They don't even know how long he was in the League before I could bear to see him more than once a week, much less take him to the farm."

"Christ, Clark." Bruce nodded, lips pursing slightly in thought. "Okay. That can be dealt with."

"What about the baby? I shouldn't be anyone's dad. That can't be dealt with."

"You still have time to prepare, Clark. To do better. To resolve things with Conner so you-"

"I don't want the baby, Bruce," Clark confessed, meeting his eyes with almost rapt attention. The admission tasted like the bite of an apple, forbidden fruit. "I never did."

Bruce's eyes widened in shock then hardened almost as quickly. "What? There's no way- You and Lois did all of those fertility treatments-"

"I used to want kids. White picket fence. A dog. The whole setup," Clark mused. "And then I realized that they'd be stuck in the same perfect mess I am, if they had powers. I knew Lois really, really wanted kids, though. That it would only hurt her to hear that I'd changed my mind. We were already trying, but she kept having miscarriages during the first trimester and since I didn't think we could have children by that point, I just never told her. Tried to steer her away from having _my_ children. I thought eventually she'd come around to adoption or a donor."

"Why didn't you tell her before J'onn did the implantation?"

Clark gave a helpless shrug, feeling the pain fixing his faint smile to his face flare with the movement. "When we learned it was possible, she was so overjoyed she cried. For days. She'd just be standing in front of the sink or the balcony or something, and she'd just burst into happy tears. I couldn't possibly say something then, to take it all away from her at the last second. I thought the best thing to do was to do it for her sake. Trade my happiness for hers. I blamed Conner. J'onn would have never figured out that pH problem with human wombs if it hadn't been for those Cadmus notes…"

"That isn't his fault."

"I know. I just can't stop myself from resenting him and Lex for it anyway." Clark drew up his legs to his chest. "It sounds so selfish and petulant, but I never get to do anything I want. To not run who I am through a dozen filters first. I can't stop being Superman, so that won't ever change. The world is always watching. Superman could never not want his own baby, can't have a political leaning, or controversial opinions on even something as benign as TV shows. Can't be openly bisexual or pro-choice or support the decrimilization of drugs. Can't publicly accuse dictators to their faces. He can't disappoint people and now Clark Kent either. Conner didn't mean to erode that protective barrier when he came into my life, but he did and I kind-of hate him for it."

"Are you done? Any more self-pity to throw on the pile?"

Ah. Batman was ready to dish out biting criticism. Clark supposed he deserved it, even though he felt like a dried up husk inside. Empty.

He let out a sigh. If he was going to complain and whine, he might as well do it properly while he was at it. "Almost. I'm mad at the universe too. I tried so hard to be a good person who never hurt anybody and I couldn't. It's unfair. Like I was set up to fail. I didn't want to be a bad person, yet here I am." Took a deep breath. "Also, I'm sorry I haven't got any fatherhood chops. I know it's important to you and I've probably lost your respect. It's one of the reasons I didn't tell you any of this before. Okay. Now I'm done. Go ahead. Let me have it."

Batman held up a finger. "Good. First, you're an idiot."

Clark's voice was muffled by his knees. "Of course. Appreciate it, B."

"Second point. Did you really think I can't handle you being a bad father? Really? Me?"

"Well…"

"I got my second child killed, Clark. Mistakes happen. I don't mean that in a forgiving way: that is a fact. People are disappointing and occasionally awful, we're just other things too. That's part of being one. There's no getting around that. Remember that point I made earlier about everyone thinking you were an asshole to Conner?"

"Vividly. I look forward to that popping into my head right before I fall asleep at night. I was just thinking how much better off I'd be if only I had more full body cringes before bed."

"You lost whatever respect of mine you were going to then. You're still my best friend. Get over yourself."

"Oh." A pause. "I haven't given you a full accounting of how I've been an ass to Conner."

"I'm sure you'll construct a detailed list and recite it to me in excruciating detail, whether I want to hear it or not."

"You're not wrong. This is your fault for getting me in a sharing mood. And for accepting me, apparently. Thanks for that."

Bruce held up another finger, undaunted. "Third point, you're not a bad person."

"I think you might have selective auditory amnesia because if you listened to even a minute-"

"You're kind more often than not, you're dependable to a nearly unhealthy degree, and to call you loyal would be an understatement. You also worry compulsively, set unrealistic standards for yourself that others shouldn't encourage, and quietly churn your guilt over the people you can't save. On the whole, that makes you a flawed, but good, person. The only kind of good person that exists, actually." Bruce gave him an annoyed look. "But you also used to be optimistic about the future, tolerant of personal chaos, and open to criticism. You've gotten so mired in this perfection-failure-denial loop that you've begun to implode from the inside out. Hence your more appalling behavior."

"I haven't been in denial."

Bruce gave him an exasperated look. "You've been lying to yourself for years. Years. You have made up for a lack of skill at it with blind commitment. We both know it. This goes beyond Conner, he just reminds you of all the things you hate about your life and, when he wouldn't help you keep up the pretense, made a convenient target for your blame."

Clark rubbed his face. "He said I was pretending all the time. That he had to too."

"That does not sound inaccurate. He's smarter than people give him credit for." A faint smirk curled at his lips. He nudged Clark. "He didn't get that part from you. Your genes saved his hairline, though."

Clark laughed in spite of himself. "What am I going to do, Bruce? I don't know what to do. I've ruined everything."

"Don't overestimate your destructive capabilities. You're only okay at being an asshole."

"And you would know?"

"Obviously. I'm an expert." Bruce sighed, looked up at the black wall of space visible on the other side of the glass. This part of the tower was currently turned away from the earth, showing them only the black vast of the expanse, punctuated by distant stars. "This goes beyond Conner and it won't die with him. You have to stop lying to yourself first.. It's going to be hard for you, putting it right. It'll also be alright, eventually."

Clark stared at his friend, feeling better and also… terrified, ashamed, tired. Mostly those feelings.

Better was still applicable, though. Oddly, at the bottom of this terrible place he'd gotten trapped in, he suddenly felt like himself again. Just a little bit. Enough to remember when he'd liked who he was. He offered Bruce a wan smile. "Thank you. I'd forgotten why I'd corner you and barf my emotions on you until you helped me sort myself out. I wish I'd never stopped."

"Now I've done it," Bruce muttered, glancing away. Clark could hear the faintly relieved tinge to his voice despite his affectation. Wondered if Bruce had missed Clark's old self as much as he had. If he'd missed the evenings spent confiding intimate knowledge of each other's lives, before their worlds had splayed so far apart. "No way out but up. I'll help you figure it out." He pushed himself to his feet and offered him his hand. "Come on. We'd better remind Lex that he can't treat our staff like he treats his own. Our HR department isn't as good."

Clark levered himself up and gave Batman a sharp nod as the other drew his cowl back over his features. Sighed. "Yeah. I probably should check on my brother-son. This is going to be a nightmare. Let's get to it."


	8. Chapter 8

Conner lay in the sterile gray composite hospital bed, stable at last. Behind him, the wall pulsed faintly with his constantly updating vitals, holographically displayed in real time. J'onn had requested this room for him before leaving to respond to the summons, not just for its location in the high security wing, but because it's wide windows currently offered the best view of the spinning blue planet beside them. His former ward had been fairly reserved in the time he'd been accountable for him, but J'onn knew he liked views. Not that Conner was in a state to appreciate it, but J'onn knew whatever rest he could get was at least as valuable.

"Well, time to get to work." Lex grimaced and scratched at his patchy, unkept stubble. "I want a full list of everything you took in the Cadmus raid. Research data, physical copies, specimens. Everything. You have an hour."

The Martian regarded him with calm orange-red eyes. "And precisely what are you hoping to achieve?"

"I told you I have a theory." Lex crossed his arms. "I know you might consider yourself the greater expert in medicine, but I'm an expert in his physiology specifically-" with that, he gestured a sharp, impatient hand at the figure in the hospital bed on the other side of the room. While they'd started this conversation in low tones to prevent their patient any discomfort, Lex's volume was rising. "-so what I say-"

"Will be listened to and carefully considered, as we would the insights of any subject matter expert."

"You can't lock me out of his treatment," Lex snarled with sudden explosive force. Perhaps Conner's temper was an inherited trait? Hm. "I told you, I have a theory. I brought him here- specifically here- to test it. You would be a fool not to let me help."

"I fully intend to and I have no intention of locking you out of any part of this process at this time. I simply need to understand what we are trying to accomplish." J'onn stared at him carefully, probing the anxiety and anger wafting off the human man in waves. "Perhaps this is a point we should establish now: I do not work for you. I am, however, willing to partner with you, as much as my position will permit."

The former CEO's fists clenched. "As a member of the Justice Idiots?"

"As Connor's physician," J'onn corrected firmly, leadening his tone the way humans did when they wished to make their point clear. Or threatening. Or sometimes funny. (It was a very multipurpose verbal technique; J'onn wasn't sure he'd ever fully utilize it.) "I will not subject him to unnecessary or invasive tests. I will not risk his health for the sake of scientific discovery. He is my patient, not your science project. I feel that it is important for you to understand that. Now, if you have a theory, I would like to hear it. In full."

Lex scowled at him. For a moment, J'onn was convinced the man would attempt to strike him. Instead, he set his jaw. "Do you have a whiteboard?"

J'onn stepped to the side and pressed his hand on a small scanner beside the lightswitch. The wall by the door flickered once before the pale paneling revealed the screen of a digital workboard. In a few taps, it had changed from the medical notes system and into a generic drawing screen. He plucked a small stylus from a tray inset in the wall and offered it. "By all means. Enlighten me."

* * *

Lex scowled as the door retracted and Batman and Superman strode in. He took the interruption as a chance to twist off the cap of a water bottle he'd been provided with and had been busy studiously ignoring. Still, he knew he should hydrate.

His afternoon was only going to get more grating from here.

The Big Blue Ubermensch took a step toward Conner's bed and halted. Swallowed.

Below the bed, Wolf stared at him with unblinking eyes. He had retreated there after the influx of med-techs and other personnel had failed to abate. No growls, as of yet, but Conner's anxious guard-pet was careful to rock off his heels and out of shadow every time someone new approached. A quiet, pointed warning.

"He is as stable now as we can get him," Martian Manhunter said from his seat in front of the board. Posture perfect, his hands rested gently on his knees. "His temperature has proven tricky to regulate and his heart is somewhat arrhythmic, but with the introduction of fluids and oxygen, his body seems to be struggling less under the load. Lex is explaining the theory that led him to seek our assistance."

"I just got through the setup," Lex snapped, setting down the water bottle with a snap and flicking an irritated look at the two newcomers. He'd already scrawled across the majority of the board like a madman, in an effort to catch the Martian up on the tests he'd run and the basic information he was working off of. It wasn't nearly as exhaustive as Lex would prefer to be, but they had to start somewhere and Lex's last coke bump had been before the shuttle had touched down at the cabin. "I'm not repeating myself for _them_ ."

The Martian held up a hand. "If they require any of that information, I will provide it to them myself. Please continue."

Lex resumed his scribbling on the board. "It's easy to point to the biggest culprit behind Conner's condition-"

"You," he heard Superman mutter.

Lex whipped around to glare, but Superman was as blank faced as ever. Batman stood a little closer to him than he had been a moment ago. Was he pinching him? It was hard to tell with their capes. Lex went back to his board. "-his cells reduced solar radiation uptake. It's the biggest contributing factor. It's easily the cause of his other symptoms. The big question is why his cells stopped processing it. With your limited understanding of his creation and biology, you erroneously assumed it was a hybridization failure of his DNA-"

"Because god forbid you be accused of making an unhealthy clone." Okay, that had definitely been Batman that time.

Lex glowered at both of them. This is why he'd never even considered lecturing, even for the sake of a credentials boost. Dealing with idiots was asking too much of him. "Hybrid. He's a hybrid, not a clone. His DNA isn't some copy-paste situation, so stop slandering my work and use the proper terminology." He turned back to his board. "As I was saying, while our green friend here was busy blaming Conner's painstakingly crafted DNA for the problem, I approached it from the other side: what had Conner encountered outside of Cadmus that could have caused the failures?"

Manhunter leaned forward. "And you found something in his time with us? Some issue we caused?"

Lex sniffed and pointed accusingly with the stylus. "Not exactly, but it wasn't his DNA. I made that perfect. Let that be known."

"For the love of Rao, Lex, get to the point-"

"Conner was incubated wearing a radiation amplifying solar suit to increase his uptake of the specially designed high intensity sun lamps." Lex glanced at the two non-medically trained heroes and sighed. "Essentially, we crammed decades worth of sunlight through his skin in the space of about twelve weeks."

Martian Manhunter tapped a finger against his bottom lip. "He was in excellent health when we first recovered him."

"No, he appeared to be," Lex countered, sketching the chalk outline of a human body. "Due to completely unavoidable gaps in our knowledge, there was no way to spot the error. In fact, he could have lived his whole life without noticing anything beyond his inability to age."

"They were caused by the same thing?"

"Possibly." Lex waved aside the question. "The mechanism I suspect is some sort of Kryptonian cellular inertia brought on by a specific artificial frequency of light. The cells greedily gobble it up, thinking they can break this down into energy, but cannot neither use it nor release it and so they… stop. Become inert. They aren't broken or dead, per se, so the body does not register them as needing repair or replacement. Merely non-functional. Dormant. Oversaturated with useless light."

The Martian furrowed his brows- or whatever part of his face that counted as brows. "How was Conner exposed to such a specific form of light radiation?"

Lex scowled at his board, absently noting a few more equations. "I can't be certain without more of the material on hand, but I think it was some sort of reaction between his solar suit and the specialty sunlamps. Donovan experimented with non-yellow sources at one point and the results were promising, so we integrated a few into the light output. We should have studied it in conjunction with the suit, but the project was behind and-" Lex took the stylus and drew lines around his human shaped outline's neck and across his wrists. "It doesn't matter why, because then we shoved the absolute fucking maximum amount into three quarters of his surface skin before he even opened his eyes."

"What spectrum and frequency of light was this?" Batman demanded. He folded his arms when everyone looked at him. "Asking for a friend."

Lex grimaced. While it would be the perfect nugget of information to take out Superman down the road, he knew there was no way he was getting off the Watchtower until the League had verified his theory and come up with a manner of protecting their biggest asset from it's effects.

The discovery of a lifetime- how to possibly _kill Superman_ , god damn it- and he was tossing it away for his stupid legacy.

"You better live, you little brat," he told the unconscious figure in the bed before he turned back to the Bat. "I'll give you the info while we're running the next series of tests. It's not one found in nature, so far as we know. Where was I?"

"Potential non-viable solar radiation and your theorized saturation effects," the Martian provided.

"Right." Lex tapped the figure on the board a second time. "I believe that he left Cadmus with whatever skin cells the solar suit directly touched already saturated. At least several layers of his skin. The surrounding areas- his face, his hands, his neck- were undamaged and could support his body's needs. Solar energy is an extremely efficient power source and Conner could supplement the difference in expenditure with food. Unless he was using his powers at their max every day, his body could keep up with demand." Lex gave them a pointed look. "Just the way I so thoughtfully designed his integrated biological systems to do."

"You also overloaded his solar cells. Don't build your tower too high," Batman said.

He couldn't help but bristle. "That was a laboratory oversight. His genome is flawless."

Martian Manhunter rose to get a better look at some of the equations Lex had peppered the corner with. "I do not understand. If his body was keeping up with its energy needs despite it's handicap, why did his DNA begin to break down at all?"

Lex took a long swig from his flask. It ran empty abruptly.

"What did you do, Lex?" Superman narrowed his eyes.

"He did it to himself," Lex shot back, tossing away the empty metal. It clanged against the floor somewhere- he didn't glance back to check. Conceded the point with a tilt of his head. "With my help. The balance between his human and Kryptonian cellular functions is… delicate. Not entirely understood, even by me. In my defense, if he'd been absorbing solar radiation at the predicted levels, it would not have been a problem." He jabbed a finger at them. "Don't forget that. I was working with the data I had."

"What. Did. You. Do?"

"I gave him those shield patches," Lex said. "To suppress his human DNA in favor of his Kryptonian." His lips twisted as he looked away. "The main ingredient of which was trace- honestly, _miniscule_ \- amounts of fast acting synthetic red kryptonite."

"You son of a bitch," Superman snapped, rounding on him. Lex was confident that the red glow growing like an ember in the depths of his eyes wasn't imaginary. "You loaded him up with kryptonite like some kind of bullfighter on steroids-"

Lex bared his teeth as he found his arm in a vice grip. "He should have been fine! If your stupid cells didn't freeze like a deer on the highway because we switched lightbulbs, he would have been completely fine! I triple checked my math!"

"Stand down." Batman shoved his way between them. A cowled glare was all it took for Superman to release his arm with a snap, though a second later it shifted back to Lex. "There's a problem with your theory. He used those shield patches when he was less than a year old. None of his symptoms began until he was six. How do you account for the five year gap?"

Lex took in a slow inhale. Waved a helpless hand. "Because neither of those events were severe in and of themselves: they just started a chain reaction. I doubt the patches interfered with his stunted ability to _absorb_ radiation, but rather, ravaged the existing solar stores which were barely adequate for his limited powers in the first place. Unlocking his suppressed abilities burned through those reserves _and_ any new sunlight he took in. Heat vision especially is a massive energy drain. Also, the suppression of his human DNA also would have slowed his metabolism to a crawl, so what little help his food energy could offer wouldn't have been available. There was no energy left for repairing damaged cells- it all had to go towards feeding his powers."

"Powers he only had for a week or so at most. If it damaged him so badly, we would have noticed then."

"I told you, it wasn't the severity of the injury- it merely got the ball rolling." Lex shifted on his feet, running the numbers through his head for the fourth time. It was inescapable and he didn't like it, but at least it was conclusive. Concrete. Understandable. "If he'd only used one or two patches, his body could have bounced back entirely, but with every subsequent patch in so short a timeframe, he overtaxed his starving, wounded bio cellular matrix again and again… until it gave up on repairing itself one hundred percent. Again, the impairment would have been minor- unnoticeable even had you scanned him that very day - but it spelled the beginning of the end. The overall deficit became permanent, growing just a tiny bit each day under even his body's regular functioning."

Martian Manhunter looked over at the figure on the bed. "A cycle of slow building cellular damage."

Lex nodded. "More like compounding, with interest. His body began healing his matrix, but since his matrix could barely break down enough sunlight into energy under normal conditions, it couldn't hope to keep up with the added strain on top of its injury. There simply wasn't enough energy to heal everything after maintaining the rest of his body's healthy cells and providing for his normal powers. Organs don't take IOU's: after enough neglect, damaged tissue becomes dead tissue. The organs that were supposed to be helping his body recover were the ones most injured- and they didn't have what they needed to restore themselves back to one hundred percent. And again, let me stress this- one hundred percent had _barely been adequate_ in the first place. There had already been no room for error. His body was now stuck fighting a battle it could never win."

"So his work in covert ops is probably what slowed it down," Batman mused aloud. "Kept him from using his powers in large quantities or taking damage in daily fights."

"That and attending school," Martian Manhunter added. "As he went back to part time."

"He probably transitioned to mainly burning food and body fat for energy around the time of the near-invasion," Lex went on, crunching the equations with a squint at his work. "Assuming my math is right. I don't know every fight he was in, but I assume the stress on his body was more than normal around that time. A human energy supply could have kept his organs functioning, but not much else."

Orange red eyes narrowed in thought, a green hand rising to prop against a matching chin. "Yet I still do not understand his sudden downturn. While the cause of this situation is new to me, when we ran our tests initially, his rate of cellular failure was consistent. Predictable. He still should have not reached this stage so quickly. Not for another few months."

Superman flinched and shifted on his feet, fidgeting with his hands. "That's on me. When I went to retrieve him from Lex's place, I wasn't exactly gentle because I didn't realize he wasn't invulnerable anymore."

Internally, Lex groaned. As much as he wanted to enjoy the guilt and pain etched on the Kansas-flavored Lovecraftian Horror beside him, it was medically relevant to add context. A tragic necessity. "There was an additional complication previous to that."

" _What did you do, Lex_ ?"

"Nothing," he admitted. "Conner was sick of being sick and he didn't want to wait to die. Didn't want to be a burden. From what I can gather, he swallowed lead-foil wrapped kryptonite in an attempt to end it." Lex gave a philosophical shrug at the harsh, shocked silence. "He vomited it up, passed out, and was taken to a hospital. That's how I found him. The kryptonite, no doubt, caused even more internal damage before it could be expelled and that's why his illness accelerated drastically." He paused. "And also, Superman manhandled a sick kid. Let's not forg-"

"You should have said he was suicidal immediately," Batman snapped. "If that is the case, he cannot be entrusted with his own medical decisions. I should have never let him off of that damned shuttle-"

"I have to agree," Martian Manhunter intoned.

"He isn't suicidal," Lex snapped. "He just didn't have any other options. When it didn't work, he gave up. Why in god's name do you think he went along with _me_? He might not have trusted me, but he still wanted to live if there was even a sliver of a chance."

"Then let's focus on your theory," Batman snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How do we test it?"

"We have already run enough scans to know that his organs are failing, though most are in different stages," Martian Manhunter provided. "But if we wished to confirm the solar suit theory, targeted sunlight exposure to different portions of his skin would be inconclusive as his bio-cellular matrix cannot break it down anyway. We will want to investigate this light exposure and saturation theory for our own needs, but I do not know that such experiments will be of any use to Conner."

"As for my delicate balance theory," Lex added, considering his even, if somewhat stress-slanted handwriting. "There's not really a way to test for that, seeing as he used the shields about five years ago. It was one brief event that knocked him off course. There won't be anything conclusive left to measure."

"So there's no way to know if listening to you ramble on about how this is but isn't your fault for the better part of a half hour was just a waste of time?"

Lex raised his chin. "On the contrary. It gives you an explanation that isn't malfunctioning DNA-"

Superman, who had drifted over to Conner's bedside and had been blessedly silent for the last minute, turned to bare his teeth. "So you did what? All of this work, all of this dragging on in the name of clearing yours? Look at him, Lex- _he is dying_ . What is wrong with you?"

"Don't be an imbecile." Lex smacked the board with his stylus. "This proves that his condition isn't one we already know is hopeless to fight. Or at least that we have nothing to lose if I'm wrong. Maybe he still won't make it, but at least we know it isn't pointless to try. That there's a chance he can get better."

"What do you have in mind?" Martian Manhunter asked blandly, removing a tablet from a slot in the wall. He began flicking through screens. Scans of Conner's body threw themselves over Lex's digital scribbles in real time. "Had I known this theory when he came to me with his symptoms, I would have said his body was barely capable of recovering then. Now… I am uncertain of what we can do. Our nanotechnology is not extensive enough to handle the extent of the repair work, especially considering that we do not understand entirely how his biological systems are supposed to interact with each other when healthy…."

"Well," Lex said, coming to stand near Conner's bed. "It's fortunate for my son that I am dying of cancer, because in the last three years, I have become essentially an expert in stem cell theory. We'll let his own body decide what cells it needs." He looked up at the Martian. "The confiscated items from Cadmus. Do you know what happened to his umbilical cord?"

"I was unaware he had one."

"Unbelievable," Lex muttered. " _He has a naval_ \- you know what, nevermind. We'll use donor cells."

Martian Manhunter's sort-of-brows furrowed at his screen. "That could be an issue. Compatibility will be difficult to determine and his body is in no state to flush out unsuitable cells without overtaxing his barely functioning immune system. While family members make the best candidates, my scans of you-"

"Glad to see you are responsibly using your alien tech to violate my privacy."

"-indicate that your chemotherapy treatment is ongoing. Your stem cells are in no state for anyone, including yourself."

Lex shrugged and gave the Martian an exasperated scowl. Perhaps he had overestimated the alien's intelligence. "I have several semi-recent batches of stem cells in storage, but given that I literally have kryptonite cancer, I do pause at the idea of giving them to my half kryptonian child. I genuinely have no idea what they would do to him. Fortunately, he has two parents because he's a _hybrid_ and not a _clone._ "

Everyone turned to Superman.

"I'll do it," he said without hesitation. "Whatever it takes."

"It'll be painful," Lex told him, with no small amount of glee. Thank god something could still raise his spirits.

"That's fine."

"Kryptonian cells have a documented toxic effect within the human body," Martian Manhunter began.

Lex flapped a hand at him. "I told you, I designed him perfect. Look in the research notes I brought. Biological Integrations, Volume Two, Page 408, I think. We injected him with Match's blood in an early power enhancement experiment. It didn't change him the way we'd hoped, but it didn't hurt him either. No noticeable rejection."

"That might work," Martian Manhunter agreed. "But will they be able to repair his more human systems as well? Superman's DNA does not have the blueprints, so to speak, for Conner's entire genome. Nor does yours."

"No one's DNA does," Lex pointed out. "We'll just have to do alternating treatments. Give him Kryptonian stem cells to hopefully kickstart his bio cellular matrix, then follow up with human donor cells. I'll make some calls. His aunt's are both compatible and unexposed to kryptonite radiation."

"Setting aside the stem cell therapy," Batman said. "Let's return to this solar saturation problem."

Lex sighed. "As delightful as the idea of finding out what it would do to Krypton's last son, I'm afraid I cannot bear to limit my offspring to twenty five percent of his total power capacity; and because I suspect it might be related to his aging issues, which I've gotten an overwhelming amount of backsass lately about Peter Panning him; therefore, as much as I would love to leave you out of the loop and shaking in your lycra, I'm afraid we're just going to have to figure out how to reverse it together." He waved a vague hand at the hospital bed, glancing at Superman. "I'm a man of responsibility now. Don't worry, dear. We'll always have our years of shared animosity-"

"I take it you have some ideas," Batman interrupted.

"Naturally." Lex smirked and rubbed his hands together. "Let's talk about synthetic kryptonite…."

* * *

Conner groaned as his foggy brain registered the soft beeping sounds emanating around him. Twisted strands of tubing ran up and down his arms, while air pushed steadily down his nose and throat. Great. Another hospital. This was just like his stupid kryptonite poisoning all over again. Whose flannel shirt would he have to steal this time?

At least he didn't have to vomit. It could be worse.

Oh, god. Why did everything have to still hurt?

"Conner? Hold on, I think he's waking up," someone said. "Conner?"

Conner pried his eyes open, then snapped them shut. That had been a mistake. He waited until the room had stopped spinning before trying again. Nope. Still a terrible idea. "Kaldur?"

"And Dick," a second voice said. "Hey, man. We just got here. I was thinking of chewing you out for not saying something about being sick before now, but you look like you're feeling the aster less than I am. By a lot."

That dragged a chuckle out of him. "Thanks, buddy. I needed that."

There was a soft smacking sound, like an elbow to the ribs.

"What I think our friend means to say is that we're both happy to see you awake," Kaldur said. "Are you feeling up to more visitors?"

"Oh, god…" Conner moaned. His voice was reedy and thin. "Everyone's coming, aren't they?"

"Of course they are," Dick said, cutting Kaldur off. "And let me tell you, you better pull through quick because now they're scared _and_ pissed. M'gann and Gar are on their way back from Mars, Artemis and Will are hunting for a sitter as we speak, and I'm not pointing fingers, but someone told Black Canary. Apparently she punched her target in the face so hard he's going to be eating through a straw for the next month before she stormed off in the middle of said mission and commandeered Sphere. I think Batman called Green Arrow to run interference before she gets here but-"

"The point is," Kaldur said firmly. "Is that everyone is very eager to see you as soon as they possibly can."

"Tha's silly of them," Conner muttered, feeling a wave of exhaustion creep over him. Yawned. How could he be tired still? And feel like complete garbage? He'd been asleep for hours, probably, but that didn't stop a second yawn. "'m not goin' anywhere. Plenty of time."

"About that," Lex said. Conner peeked through his eyelids long enough to see him and J'onn standing in the doorway of his room.

"Perhaps it would be best if you two were to wait outside-" J'onn began.

"He means leave now. Go. Vacate. Anywhere but here," Lex said, stalking past them to throw himself into the chair recently vacated by Dick. Conner heard him snap his fingers. "What good are you as a guard-wolf if you don't run off well-wishers?"

There was an apathetic woof from below his bed. Conner dangled his hand down and got a nuzzle in reply.

"I am afraid we do need to discuss Conner's medical condition with him. Private information. It should not take very long," J'onn assured them. There was a minute of rustling as Dick and Kaldur gathered their coats, and after a few quiet promises to be back soon, left the room.

Conner turned to Lex. "I take it I've gotten much worse if we're here."

"How much do you remember?"

"Not a lot. Just talking to you a little after I got here, I think." Shit. Conner flushed. Had he really been crying or was he just imagining it? He cleared his throat. "You said something about a theory."

"That's right. It's our leading theory at the moment for your condition." Lex dragged a hand across his face. It made the crepe like wrinkles under his eyes more prominent. "I'll give you a longer explanation later, if you want it, but the abbreviated version is that while I made your DNA utterly and completely without flaw, there were some errors in the lab at Cadmus. Donovan-"

"The solar suit you wore during incubation, when combined with experimental types of light, produced a new form of radiation that crippled your ability to take in solar energy and possibly stunted your growth," J'onn explained. The Martian was as inscrutable as ever, yet Conner knew as instinctively as he understood Wolf that his former guardian had had enough of Lex's bullshit to last a lifetime. "You appeared healthy but you were operating at a stunted capacity. The additional strain imposed by the synthetic red kryptonite contained in the shield patches Lex gave you, sent your body into a slow-moving spiral of internal damage that went mostly unnoticed for the following five years, following which, your brief ingestion of kryptonite accelerated the problem in previously unaffected organs."

Lex gave the alien a look flat enough to rival a ruler before turning back to Conner. "Some generalizations, but that's the gist of it. The important part is that I didn't make you wrong."

Martian Manhunter nodded solemnly. "Indeed, you did not. One might infer that Conner's creation was not inherently flawed, but your attempts to alter or control what he would be after the fact were in error. There might even be a lesson in that."

"I'd always thought you'd fallen in with the Moral Patrol on accident, but I see it now. Preachy bastards, every one of you." Lex turned back to Conner. "How do you feel?"

Conner raised an eyebrow. It took some effort. "About as bad as I did when Mercy came to check on me, though I'm not as cold anymore."

Lex canted his head, accepting the answer at face value. "So about as bad as you were yesterday morning. Not a vast improvement, but a promising one."

"So…" Conner said, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Is there anything that can be done? If it's not a hybridization failure, I mean."

"We have already begun to treat you with stem cell injections," J'onn informed him. "Though the first round was technically a failure."

"This minor improvement is promising, however." Lex crossed his legs and leaned back. He was still dressed in the same outfit as before, but that wasn't a good measurement of time. Conner knew for a fact he hadn't bothered changing or shaving in days. Someone should probably force him to soon. "It suggests that adding healthy stem cells helps because your body is still able to use them."

Conner shut his eyes, too tired to hold them open, but gave Lex a weak smile. "Stems cells, huh. Found my mythical umbilical cord?"

"Mythical? Of all the- You had one, _for the love of god ,_ why is that so hard for you people to believe-"

"Superman donated his own stem cells for the procedure," J'onn intoned. "He wanted to be here when you awoke, but when our scans showed only minor uptake and the treatment deemed a failure, he went back into his solar bed to generate more for our next attempt."

"He's just sulking because he had a kryptonite needle shoved through his spine. For someone who can throw skyscrapers around, he's surprisingly squeamish around needles," Lex clarified with no small amount of satisfaction. "Anyway, we think we've narrowed down the issue: with so many of your organs involved at once, your body can't adequately disperse the new stem cells and when they do make it to their destinations, they are having trouble getting past the dead or heavily damaged tissues."

"So what now?"

"Nanobots," J'onn said. "Small enough to cross through and deliver the fresh stem cells to the most healthy parts of your organs. However, there is a catch: we do not have enough of the proper caliber to clear away the dead tissues. I am afraid that for your unique physiology, that would require them to both be armed with lead shielding, a retractable kryptonite set of scalpels, and still have storage room to ferry the excess tissues out for disposal. With our current technology, it is just not possible at the sizes needed." J'onn took a small pause. "You will have to have more traditional surgery instead."

"Surgery?" Conner forced open his eyes at that. "I've never… I mean, I can't…"

"I would be remiss not to warn you of the risk," the Martian added. "The procedure will require the use of kryptonite in various quantities. Sick as you are, regular scalpels can not be counted upon to cut cleanly through your deep tissue, but even trace amounts of kryptonite radiation pose a significant threat to you. Dr. Palmer is already on his way to assist in our efforts with the nanobots internally, but with your body's difficulty maintaining its basic functions now…"

"There's a chance you could die on the operating table," Lex finished. "A decent chance, I'd say."

Conner swallowed. "What are my odds?"

"Those are impossible to calculate," J'onn said. "I have never encountered this specific set of circumstances and there are far too many unknowns."

"Ballpark it," Conner grit out.

"Significant," Lex sighed. He sounded about as tired as Conner felt. "He's not being evasive with your chances. It could go either way."

Conner clenched his fists in the sheets of his bed, feeling his skin pull around his IV lines. "And if we skip the surgery and stick to stem cell injections?"

There was a hushed, cautious silence.

"It could take years to get you back up to where you once were, assuming it continues to work," Lex told him. "We have no guarantees the stem cells will reach every organ in time to prevent more failures. The damage will not necessarily stop spreading just because partial functionality is restored. You might die slowly or get better slowly. Remember when you said you didn't want to come here for treatment that would just extend your suffering for a few more weeks? This would be closer to that option."

Conner licked his lips. "And the surgery won't result in that anyway?"

"It's possible, but I doubt it. We won't be using plain green kryptonite for the most part, so the odds of lasting damage to the surrounding tissues is controllable. If the surgery is going to kill you, it will be on the operating table. It might fail to entirely resolve the problem, but I anticipate you'll improve at least enough to give us more options."

Frankly, both options sounded horrid, but only one of them felt like dropping into a pit of alligators to be slowly torn apart. Conner liked fast and definitive; call it his impatient nature, but there was a reason he'd been willing to choke down kryptonite in the first place. "What do you think I should do, Dad?"

Lex took a sharp exhale of breath. "Take the surgery. Perhaps it's the coke withdrawal, the lack of a decent drink in this floating convent, or my own impatient nature, but all things considered it's the only option with the possibility of you walking out of this place within a fortnight."

Conner expelled an almost amused puff of air from his nose (which was tricky, given the tubes attached). His thoughts exactly. "Fine. Surgery it is. When?"

"Tonight or tomorrow morning." J'onn said. "Your situation is unlikely to improve rather than get worse on it's own, so sooner is better than later." His tablet let out a soft chime. "It appears Dr. Palmer has made good time. We will brief him and begin prepping."

* * *

"I don't like this," Ray Palmer said, staring through the surgery theatre glass at the room being prepared within. Tall silver UV lamps had been positioned like spotlights, intensity set to low to prevent surgical cuts from healing too soon (though including them at all bordered on wishful thinking). Trays stacked with scalpels and syringes and probes, all with an eerie black-green tinge.

Beside him, Superman grunted. Arms crossed and body tense, he seemed like a man already besieged by disaster, though perhaps it was just his body trying to recover from his doubled donation of cells. Even his forehead curl seemed robbed of its energy. "Join the club."

"It's not just Luthor." Dr. Palmer glanced up from his tablet screen to glance about. "And where did he get to? I could have sworn he was just here, threatening us with lawsuits if he couldn't supervise-"

Martian Manhunter gestured to the deck below them, towards the guest quarters. His typical uniform had already been replaced by surgical scrubs, though had yet to go through decontamination as he was there to assist Dr. Cross only if needed. (It would be an unnecessary but policy-compliant gesture as he preferred to operate telekinetically.) "I believe Batman is forcing him to shower and is locating a change of clothes."

"I'm glad someone managed it," Superman muttered.

"His main tactic is to alternate threats with promises of whiskey. It seems to be an effective motivator."

Dr. Palmer swiped an impatient hand across his screen with a scowl, trying to force as many Cadmus diagrams into his head as possible. Normally, he'd defer to an xenobiological expert, but even though his half-hour cram session barely scratched the surface, it technically put him in the group of fifteen or so people with any knowledge in this kid's unique physiology at all. He was an expert- and would be a leading one by the time he got out of surgery.

It was insane. He wasn't even a doctor of medicine, much less a _surgeon_ . "It's just… so much of this is hypothetical. We don't even know if the anesthesia will work, if the scalpels won't kill him, if the treatment won't make things worse much less fail-" He took a deep breath. "It's just a lot of unknowns. I know we don't really have a choice, but it's just a lot to factor in if something goes wrong during the procedure."

Superman put a hand on his shoulder. "Just do whatever you can, Ray. Take it one step at a time. Sometimes that's all we can do."

Unsure which one of them Supes was trying to comfort, Dr. Palmer gave him a tight smile and a nod. "I will. Alright, I think I have the basics. If Dr. Cross is still ready to go, tell the nurses to administer the first dose of anesthesia."


	9. Chapter 9

Conner swallowed for what seemed like the fifteenth time in a row, feeling a fresh surge of nerves flood his stomach. He’d already been dressed in an even flimsier version of his earlier hospital gown (seriously, this thing was made of blue paper) and had his dark hair tucked into a matching scrunched cap before he’d been wheeled into a small prep area just outside the surgical theatres doors. They were probably prepping tray and trays of saws and scalpels and all sorts of curved sharp things designed to score his flesh specifically and cut through his bones--

He squeezed his eyes shut and took several deep breaths, hoping it would help. 

Nope. Nothing. 

Involuntarily, his eyes were drawn to the spot on his arm where he’d been injected just a few minutes ago. A small bandage covered the puncture, though there was a chance it had closed already. Conner didn’t like needles as a general rule (if they were his concern, something had already gone very wrong) and he liked the look of the chemical injected into his bloodstream even less; bright navy blue, like someone had tried to wash cheap denim jeans in mouthwash. 

Something had to be wrong. He could feel it, looming above him like the threat of an invisible tidal wave.

“Alright, Conner,” Dr. Cross said, throwing a paper sheet across his chest and holding it up so that Conner couldn’t see anything past his own clavicle. “Let me know if you feel a pinch…. No? Nothing. How about now? No? And one more… nothing? Excellent.” He settled the sheet back down and gave Conner a reassuring smile. “Well, my dear boy, I am happy to pronounce you good and numb.”

Conner cleared his throat with an effort. It seemed determined to weld itself shut. “I’m not asleep,” he choked out.

“Let’s give that a few minutes. I don’t want to give you another dose of blue kryptonite quite yet.”

Tears pricked at his eyes and with monumental effort, Conner crossed his arms over his face to hide it. It was hard to tell how successful he was, because he couldn’t feel it and was now unwilling to open his eyes to check. His breathing sounded loud to his own ears.

“Hey, now, let’s try and calm down.” Dr. Cross hovered over him uncertainly. “There’s a few minutes yet. Is there someone you want to wait with you?”

Conner dragged in a wet, ragged breath. “Dad. Get my dad.”

Another hesitation. “Oh. Alright, uh, give me just one moment.” There was a soft set of steps before a door was shoved open, followed by the rustling of the flaps of plastic decontamination curtains being pushed aside. Either the room was nearby or his super hearing had made an oddly timed return. “Conner’s a little stressed from the early effects of the anesthesia. He’s asking for his dad to sit with him?”

“Move over, Supercad, he means me,” Lex snapped (and oh god, but Conner couldn’t stop a chuckle from slipping in. Lex was such a dick-- no, like a mean cheerleader stereotype). Padded steps.

“Is he okay? Nothing’s gone wrong has it?” Clark asked.

Dr. Cross again. “Probably not. Panic attacks are a common reaction typical to anesthetics--”

The plastic curtain flapped again and then the footsteps drew closer. “What’s on your mind--?”

“Something’s wrong,” Conner blurted out, only half aware of the words leaving his mouth. His heart had started racing, thudding in his chest and making his fingers twitch with adrenaline. “It’s all wrong, I can feel it. It’s not right-- the kryptonite isn’t working and I’m going to die--”

“Everything’s fine, son,” Lex said, voice low and calm. “I could spend an hour detailing all the triple-checks I’ve done for this procedure, but it’s beside the point. Anesthesia is just terrifying. You don’t really get used to it.”

“No, you don’t understand, it’s wrong. Something’s gone wrong, I’m not falling asleep and--” his voice trembled and hitched, too high for his normal self, and dammit, he really was crying now. Good thing he was still hiding his face beneath his arms. “--and they’re going to _cut_ me, they’re going to cut _inside of me_ , and I’ll _bleed_. I’m still awake and I’ll know it’s happening and there won’t be anything I can do except lie there and get cut--”

“Listen to me, no, listen. You will not be awake, you just haven’t fallen asleep yet. I will not let you in there until you are thoroughly unconscious, do you understand?” Lex paused until Conner trailed into something hiccupingly close to silence. “You won’t remember falling asleep because that isn’t how it works, you just wake up confused. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share. Now, the best trick is to think about anything but what you’re doing. We can talk about whatever you want. History. Philosophy. Current events. Speculate unflattering things about the profession of the mother of whoever decided this was an alcoholic beverage free wing--”

Conner pressed his mouth shut, successfully stifling a new sob. “Tell me about yours.”

“My mother?” Lex snorted. “Now there is a soothing topic. Letitia was about as maternal as Lady MacBeth and twice as--”

“No. The maid. What was her name?”

“Her name?” There was a short pause. Lex seemed to actually be pondering the question for more than half a second. “No idea. Saw a picture once. My father paid her a decent sum to go away, so I never knew more than a handful of things about her.”

“Like what?”

“It’s a safe bet she was decent looking, of course. Not particularly educated. Malaysian, believe it or not.” Lex scoffed and grinned crookedly at him. “That’s why we’re a touch more beige than the average caucasian and a little chink-y around the eyes, son. Don’t worry, like a proper man of his time, he banged the whitest looking Malaysian maid he could find.”

Conner let a ragged, involuntary laugh. It came out as half a groan. “Oh, god. You’re racist too. How did I miss it?”

“Don’t judge me,” Lex insisted, tone more indignant than when he’d been complaining about the lack of an open bar in the medical ward. That alone pulled a stray chuckle out of Conner. “I didn’t race-evaluate my maids and rank them on a list of most fuckable. That’s on your grandfather.”

“Oh, no.” Conner sighed heavily. “There was an actual list, wasn’t there?”

“Found it in his desk when I was five. Also, you’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lex was definitely amused. “Don’t go giving yourself too much credit for branching out into Martian territory. That’s very colonialist of you for one--”

“It is _not_.”

“--so don’t think you’re off the hook. If anything, you take after Lionel more than I do. I can’t help but notice that despite dating outside of your species, you still went for-- wait for it-- a _white_ Martian.”

Conner gave an outraged scoff. “That’s not how it works! I didn’t--”

* * *

“Wait.” Conner blinked against the sudden influx of light. UV light, actually. He was back in his room, Wolf staring at him from a couch someone had thought to drag beside his bed. Lex sat in the chair next to it, scribbling something onto a clear digital tablet with a scowl. “Is it over? Did we cancel the surgery?”

Lex glanced up and smirked, clean shaven and dressed in matching loose gray shirt and sweatpants with the League’s logo on them. Had he been dressed that way for a while? Conner hadn’t actually gotten a look at him before--and it was absolutely hilarious to think he’d been wearing that the whole time. “I told you it would be a matter of waking up confused.” He raised an eyebrow at the now-giggling Conner. “And apparently high.”

“Is that what this is?” Conner laughed and trailed off, the grin not quite leaving his face. “I feel so floaty. Like my insides are made of sunshine and balloons. It’s nice.”

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Lex told him. “Consider it my apology for never being able to experience cocaine. That’s a custom blend of blue and silver kryptonite, formulated by yours truly to sneak around that pesky biological child-lock you complained of. A soft periwinkle, if you’d like to get specific about colors. Enjoy the trip, son.”

Conner flopped his head back against the pillow, laughing again. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dad. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not right away,” Lex agreed mildly. “It’s a little early to say definitively, but your surgery went well. Extremely well, actually. Dr.s Palmer and Cross were able to clear out the vast majority of damaged tissue and route the nanobots through to the most heavily affected areas. According to your last scan, your bio cellular matrix is around twenty percent active. Before, it was at about two percent. In fact, all of your damaged organs have shown measurable improvement and it’s only been about two hours since the procedure.”

Conner beamed down at the bandages he could see poking out from under his new hospital gown. His chest was probably a mess of stitches beneath it. “So I’m better now?”

“You’re getting there. You’ll still need a few days to recover from surgery, but after that, the rest can be done as outpatient treatments. More stem cells, until you’re producing enough of your own that they become redundant. Plus, we have to sort out your inert skin cells once you’re recovered enough from surgery that a little green kryptonite-cocktail exposure won’t do you significant harm.” Lex gave him an amused glance. “Surgically flaying you seemed excessive, so I’ve drawn up a few alternatives. Martian Manhunter and I favor micro-shards of kryptonite encased in a gel-like medium, designed to slough off the top layers of skin and increase turnover. Think of it like an exfoliating-scrub spa treatment.”

Conner laughed. “Why not? That sounds fun. Slammin’.”

“Never say that word again. Also, that’s the drugs talking, son. You won’t think that when you realize all the places you’re going to have to apply it. That suit covered most of your body. Think on that a moment.” 

Conner considered that for a moment, devolving into snickers. “Nope. That sounds fine. Seriously, I don’t think anything can upset me now.”

“Fantastic. You’ll get to test that theory,” Lex told him, standing. “You’ve got a line of visitors forming and most of them are mad at you for not telling them you were sick in the first place. I bet you a nice bottle of gin that the scanners have already alerted Martian Manhunter to your awakening and they are being arranged in order of most furious now. Lucky you.”

“Maybe it’ll be a nice visit.” Conner grinned at Wolf, then registered that Lex was gathering his shoes. “Wait. Are you leaving?”

“I’m going to review some cell cultures and run some synthetic simulations on how to more quickly remove that useless light radiation out of Kryptonian skin cells. Slow and steady works for your treatment, but Batman wants something fast acting for Little Boy Blue out in the field and I’m not getting off this orbiting justice jamboree until that’s resolved.” Lex grimaced. “So yes, I have to go to deck five for a few hours.”

“But I’ll miss you!”

That actually startled a laugh out of Lex. “I’ll be back later. A word of advice--” he reached over and pressed a small switch connected to an IV line into his palm. “--push that as soon as you realize your friend’s jokes aren’t that funny. Press it twice if your chest starts to tingle. I wish I could stay and help manage baby’s first high, but needs must.” He turned to Wolf and stabbed an imperious finger at him. “You’re on bouncer duty. He yawns once and that’s your cue to drive off the rest of them. Once, Mutt.”

Wolf gave a non-committal flick of his tail.

* * *

“For the last time, Kaldur. I understand.” Dick let out a steadying exhale and glanced at the closed door to Conner’s room. “We keep it low key, find out how he’s doing, and ask if he wants any more visitors today. Standard hospital stuff.”

Kaldur nodded. “Just because J’onn says the surgery went well does not mean Conner will be in the mood to receive or entertain visitors. It’s been a stressful day. We need to be respectful of what he can handle and make sure he is not overwhelmed. More importantly, it will be up to us to ensure that we correctly set the others’ expectations for how to approach him. With J’onn tied up, it falls to us to safeguard his recovery from unnecessary stress.”

“Please, Kaldur, don’t you think this is a little much? It’s Conner. He’s not exactly the kid-gloves type.” Dick folded his arms. “Besides, I want to ask him about Lex. What was he doing here? J’onn said he was consulting but they seemed awfully friendly. I’m shocked Wolf didn’t bite him.”

“That is exactly what I am saying we should not ask him about. This is not the right time.”

“Of course, of course. It’s not going to be the first words out of my mouth. We ask how he’s feeling first and go from there.”

Kaldur tried not to sigh. As much as he wanted to convey the changes their close friend had undergone over the last few months, he wasn’t sure he could do it without violating said friend’s privacy. It wasn’t Dick’s fault, of course. As far as he and any of their friends knew, Conner had simply had a short but ultimately fruitless reconnection with M’gann and decided to travel shortly after that fell apart. All of the former teammates had dropped off the map for a few months at a time between various educational and personal obligations outside of work; it was hardly alarming for arguably their most reticent member to take his turn. The news that Conner was deathly ill hadn’t really penetrated in their minds even if the idea of surgery had been greatly upsetting. 

It had been hard enough for Dick to believe the invulnerable Super could be seriously unwell and he’d seen it with his own eyes. Kaldur had watched Conner deteriorate for weeks. Some things just couldn't be conveyed.

There probably wasn’t any non-privacy violating things he could say to prepare them for Conner’s most recent headspace-- especially when it came to Lex. Dreadful as it might be, they’d just have to wade in and hope for the best. “Be that as it may, J’onn said the surgery was a very upsetting experience for him. He isn’t used to being vulnerable and the last few months have been hard in ways he was unprepared for. Today was the culmination of all that distress. We cannot expect him to be as he is when operating normally.”

“I suppose you have seen him more than I.” Dick gave him a thin look. “Don’t think you’re off the hook for keeping this a secret from us. Seriously, man. Not cool.”

“It was not mine to tell.” They stepped up to the door, Kaldur glancing at Dick and staring pointedly at his crossed arms. “Calm and non-confrontational. Let us embrace the good news before addressing any feelings about the delay in notification or asking him questions.”

“Got it.”

The door slid open.

“Hey, guys,” Conner said, flashing them a delighted grin and waving.

Kaldur stared. A mere six hours ago, he had been on death’s door and it had shown, but now their friend was propped up in bed, hair sticking up a little, and beaming at them like a toddler at a puppy parade. His warm skin almost seemed to glow a little under the ambient UV lighting, as though denying even the rumor of sallowness that he had seen with his own two eyes. 

Well, J’onn had said the surgery had gone better than anticipated. 

“You look pretty good for being fresh off death’s doorstep,” Dick said, coming over to give Wolf a scratch behind his ears. “I tell you, even for minor surgery I come out of it feeling like I’ve been hit by a freight train.”

“I feel amazing, but I don’t think that’s what being hit by a freight train is supposed to feel like.” Conner put his chin in his hand, brows furrowing as he seemed to more seriously contemplate the thought. Looked back at Dick. “Unless you’re joking?”

“Um, I guess? I’ve never been hit by a freight train. I mean, yet.”

“Hm,” was all Conner said, brow still furrowed as he pressed a button at his side with a slow, deliberate click. 

Kaldur and Dick exchanged a long look, mingling concern and tentative bemusement. “I know you only woke recently,” Kaldur said carefully. “But J’onn says you are allowed as many visitors as you feel up to receiving. Is now a good time or would you prefer to rest?”

Conner scoffed but it morphed into a smile at the end. “Oh, don’t worry, I have lots of energy. It’s mostly the drugs. Lex gave me drugs. Not cocaine, though. That was a different time.”

“What kind of drugs, buddy?” Dick asked, before Kaldur could formulate a reply.

“Periwinkle kryptonite,” Conner laughed, waving his injector switch. Kaldur had never observed so many expressions of even mild joy on his face in the years he’d known him. He looked completely unlike himself. “Isn’t that ridiculous? It comes in different colors. Green feels like throwing up dizzy, but periwinkle feels like I’m made of balloons and white static. And also that I want to eat cheetos, popcorn, and trail mix. All together. Like in one bite. That sounds really good right now.”

“Hm,” was all Kaldur could think to say to that. It would obviously be another few hours before Conner was properly lucid. At least he didn’t have to worry about Dick pumping him for information-- Conner was barely coherent enough to know where he was. “Perhaps we should wait before bringing in anyone--”

“Absolutely not!” Dick announced, a somewhat manic gleam in his eye. He smacked Conner lightly on the shoulder. “If Conner says he feels fine, Kaldur, we should go with that. Let him set the pace. A body knows, right?”

Kadlur gave him the dirtiest look he could muster. It didn’t seem remotely effective.

“I do feel very whelmed,” Conner assured them both, the unspoken conversation going completely over his head. He made a heart with his hands. It took a few tries to get his fingers to coordinate. He peered through the gap. “Like that. Happy whelmed.”

“Well, then let’s get the band back together,” Dick said, already at the door. “Let me go _set their expectations_ and I’ll bring them right in. Kaldur can wait with you here. Be back in a sec.”

* * *

“Guys!” Dick skidded to a halt in the small break room that both serviced the handful of full time medical techs and functioned as a mid-deck waiting area for League members. His former teammates and friends (awesome, his phone tree sure had taken off) alike all looked up in surprise as he waved for their attention. “He’s awake, surgery went great, J’onn says visitors are okay now, blah, blah, and….” Dick spread his hands with a wicked grin, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “Conner is high as a kite, guys. Seriously. I’ve seen more sober hippies at Woodstock.”

Will gave him a disbelieving stare, bouncing Lian on his lap. “What were _you_ doing at Woodstock?”

“Not important!” Dick gestured frantically back down the hall towards the hospital room where one of his dearest friends was in a position to royally _embarrass himself_. The window for payback was closing (Conner was one hell of a salty designated driver); one they may never get again in their lifetimes. “Come on. We all know how fast his metabolism works. Hurry!”

Tired, blinking faces stared back at him from where they’d been busy sitting for the last few hours in uncomfortable positions on the floor or on the hard plastic chairs lining the lone table and walls. For a split second, Dick began second guessing himself before, in a sudden flurry, everyone rose, hands grabbing at bags and coats in their haste. 

* * *

“Oh, wow, everyone’s here,” Conner said, as he blinked at the steady stream of people flooding in (his old team mates he’d expected, but even Zatanna, Roy, Rocket, Karen, and Mal had made it; a few of the younger members like Jaime, Virgil, Cassie, and Tim seemed to have tagged along with a few senior Leaguers like Barry and Hal). Quite the group to cram into such a small room. Grinned again at all the greetings and scattered hellos. “Slammin’.”

Artemis dropped a diaper bag beside the bed to evict Wolf unceremoniously from the couch, motioning for Will to join her. “Yeah, well that’s what you get for not dying: visitors. We’d have brought balloons and cards too but somebody--” she said, jabbing an accusing finger at him. “--didn’t give us any warning that he was going to be having surgery. And, by the way, no one will tell us even what kind of surg--”

“You have a beard. And a baby,” Conner gasped, looking between it and Will with wide eyes. “Where did you get a baby?”

“Jade gave it to me,” Will said as though that were a perfectly adequate answer, managing to keep a straight face. Dropping onto the couch beside him, Artemis nodded as if to say _‘I was there, I saw it myself’_.

“Really? That was so nice of her.” Conner eyes dropped back to it, dressed in a fuzzy pink hooded onesie with fluffy bear ears. She looked like a little stuffed animal. He held his arms out. “Can I hold it?”

“Oh, my god, yes,” Artemis said before Will could finish raising his eyebrows. She stood and grabbed for the squirming bundle. “She’s starting to teethe and I swear to god, she’s only slept two straight hours this week. We haven’t been able to put her down much longer than that.”

“You sure, Conner?” Will asked, Lian half out of his arms. “She might be a little fussy--”

“Oh, I love babies. They are so cute.” Reclining as he was, Conner did his best to draw the baby into a hold against his chest while Artemis wound his IV lines out of the way. (Actually, it made his stitches tingle a bit. Remembering Lex’s advice, he took the chance to hit the switch two more times.) He stared down at the soft, warm mass, almost going cross eyed at the close angle. To be perfectly fair, she looked back up at him seemingly in the same predicament. “Hello, tiny human. Why are you so little? It’s ridiculous how tiny you are.”

There was a series of soft snorts and stifled giggles. More than one person discretely pulled out smartphones, apart from Dick, who had been filming since the beginning and was narrowly dodging Kaldur’s half hearted attempts to get him to stop.

“Seriously, baby.” Conner kept going, still talking to the baby with a decidedly amused, yet relatively conversational tone. As though the infant might offer a reasonable answer unless condescended to. She let out a warning warble, brows furrowed and tiny lips creased, evidently undecided on whether or not she was fine with this arrangement. Conner bounced her a little, poking her hands gently and watching them unfurl like starfish. “I’ve seen walnuts bigger than your fists. Your fingers are like tic-tacs. Those can’t hit anything. Whose idea was that? What are you going to do?”

Ollie and Dinah chose that moment to file in: the Green Arrow unable to stifle his guffaw. “Oh, geez. Please tell me someone’s record-- ow,” he cut off, taking a well trained elbow to the ribs.

“It’s ridiculous,” Conner repeated, tone taking on a faint indignance bordering on a chide. “You can’t do _anything_ like this. I was born ready to punch a bear or something and _I_ wasn’t sure I’d make it. It’s just bad planning making babies this small, even if you are cuter this way. That disguise won’t work. Don’t worry. I got your back. Can help you punch bears--”

“As heartwarming as this may be,” Batman said, materializing at the door with Captain Marvel peering over his shoulder and J’onn impassively on his heels. “Whose idea was it to put a baby directly on top of Conner’s surgical stitches?”

* * *

An official break from visitors was shortly declared, mostly for the sake of giving the senior league members a chance to confirm with their own eyes that Conner was still alive as J’onn quickly checked him over, while also allowing Batman enough time to decide how much he wanted to chew out the group as a whole.

(It was a moderate amount.)

(Conner had only petulantly and with great reluctance surrendered the baby, imploring, “But we’re friends now. What if there are bears? Her outfit is cute but it won’t fool a _real one_. She smells like a regular baby.” Only Will’s assurances that Lian would still be friends with him when she got back and that Artemis would keep an eye out for bears in the meantime had mollified him.)

After J’onn pronounced him extremely inebriated but no worse for wear from his impromptu cuddle session with what was essentially a soft, squirmy bowling ball, Conner found himself alone with Wolf, who reclaimed the couch without hesitation. His chest felt perfectly fine and no one had told any jokes in a while, so he wasn’t sure if they were still funny or not, but Conner clicked the stay-high button just to be safe. He wasn’t giggling at every single thing, but neither was he capable of dwelling on the same thought for more than a moment or two. ‘Mellow’ might be the applicable term.

He glanced over at Wolf and gave him a lopsided smile. “When did you last eat, bud? You better go have a snack. I’ll be fine on my own for a bit.” His eyes widened with realization. “You can bring me something back from the kitchen! Like M&Ms. Or brownies. Or brownies with M&Ms inside. Whatever’s convenient. I trust your judgement.”

Wolf had given him a considering look before flicking his ears and trotting out of the room. 

Conner watched him go. Did Wolf remember where the cafeteria was? Probably. Someone could show him if he got lost-- Wolf was great with directions. Could find true north like a champ. It’d be fine.

There was a soft rap of knuckles on metal. “Knock knock?”

Few people Conner knew were that Midwesternly redundant with their manners. 

“Hey, Clark,” Conner said, glancing over. 

“Hey…” Clark said, hovering a little furtively in the doorway. He glanced around at the empty room. “Um, I know this is a bad time, comparatively speaking, but can I have a minute? I just need to say a few things. Normally, I’d wait until you were feeling better but--” he took a deep breath and gave him a weak smile. “--but I need to have some conversations with people tonight and this is the one I need to have first.”

Conner grinned. “Sure. Now’s a great time actually.”

“Yeah?” Clark stepped in, the door sliding shut behind him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Amazing,” Conner told him with utter sincerity. “I’m on these periwinkle painkillers and it’s fantastic. Everyone visited, and I got to hold a baby. But then my stitches got disturbed and she had to leave. We’re still friends though.” He looked down at his lap, suddenly. Looked back up. Squinted. “I don’t think I caught her name.”

“So you’re high.”

“Very.” Conner gave him a bright thumbs up. “Which is why it’s the perfect time for whatever it is you gotta say. I dare you to try and crush my soul. Seriously. There is nothing you can do to spike my blood pressure. I’m zen. I feel like the Dalai Lama on quaaludes.”

Clark snorted and rubbed his neck as he sat in the chair near the end of the bed. “That so? Well, how can I turn down such an invitation?”

“It would almost be ruder not to,” Conner agreed. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Alright. First, just-- you don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want. I don’t want to pressure you into something because you happen to be high. You can just listen. Or yell. Or swear at me. It all works.”

“Noted.”

“It has come to my attention that I...” Clark began. He grimaced, looking away briefly before himself to meet Conner’s eyes. “Have been a massive asshole to you for basically your entire life.”

Conner let out a peal of laughter. “Yeah. You really have.”

“You’re right,” Clark muttered, staring at him for an entire second before shaking his head with a dry smile. “This is the best time for this. Alright, there’s more. Hear me out. It’s also entirely my fault, the way I’ve been acting. I don’t want-- I need you to know that it wasn’t anything you did. You’re fine. When we found you, I didn't know how to handle it. I didn’t really understand what everything meant and when I did, I panicked. For a long time. You remember, I’m sure-- you were there. It was awful. I was so afraid of being a father-- especially a bad father, that I became the worst one. Now, I’ve probably even ruined brothers for you too.”

Conner laughed a second time. “I’ve got a bunch of brothers. All genomorphs are brothers. Don’t worry, it averages out.”

“Oh, Rao.” Clark covered his face with his hands, bowing forward under the weight of realization. “I’m averaging with Lex now, aren’t I?”

“I wouldn’t complain too much, Clark. It’s helping your score.”

“So do apologies, I hope.” Clark took an intense, fortifying breath. “Where was I? Right. I had panicked. Instead of telling you that outright and dealing with that fear and uncertainty together, I handled it in the worst possible way. That’s on me. Entirely. Even though I blamed and took it out on you. Which I am very sorry for-- not that I can ever truly make it up to you. I mean, in terms of the hurt I’ve caused you. It’s a lot. Obviously, if there was something I could do to make it up to you, I absolutely would--”

“The stem cells were a nice gesture.”

“That’s never going to be enough and it shouldn’t be,” Clark said firmly. “I know I fucked up, and have been since the very beginning, but instead of dealing with that, I decided to lie to myself. And to others. Like you said, I forced you to pretend with me, too. You were right.”

“Cool.”

Clark gave him a crooked smile. It only reached his eyes for a second, but faded naturally, like he wasn’t trying to hide the sad thing underneath it. “So, no more pretending. It’s gonna suck, but the truth is that it already sucks so I might as well be honest about why. I might like myself again. That’d be nice.” 

“Damn, Clark. You sound pretty sincere.”

“I am. I don’t blame you for doubting that. I’ve earned it by not being honest with you.”

Conner gave him a wry look. “Batman make you do this?’

“No.” Clark sighed, then added, “Kind of. He made me admit a few things to myself, then explained how I was being an idiot.”

“He’s good at that.”

“He is. Most of this is from me, though. I’ve realized a lot of things in the last week. The last day. I don’t know if I can fix any of it, but ignoring it hasn’t done either of us any favors. Hell, you ended up taking help from Lex because you knew better than to ask me. That was a wake up call.” He cleared his throat, staring at his lap. Struggled with the words. “So I’m going to talk to Ma and Pa tonight, then Lois. I’ve got a lot of things to clear up, especially before they come to see you. If you do want them to visit. I know I’ve been a big reason why you never really felt like part of the family.”

“Yeah.” Conner hummed quietly to himself, turning that thought over. “What are you going to tell them?”

“The truth.” Clark heaved a sigh, not even bothering to hide his apprehension. “That you aren’t my twin. That I didn’t find you three years ago. That the reason it’s been so hard for them to get to know you is because you’ve been stuck giving half answers to their questions so you don’t accidentally contradict something I lied about. That I’ve been excluding you in other ways. To name a few topics. There’s a lot. I’m writing a list-- I can show you when it’s done. Anyway, my goal is to at least make sure that you don’t have to explain anything to them if you don’t want to. Obviously, you’re welcome to, it just shouldn’t be your responsibility to start all these difficult conversations with them when it was my fault we wound up here. Sorry again.”

“Okay.” Conner beamed. “They can visit. Ask Ma to bring pie?”

It was Clark’s turn to laugh. “Sure, sure. I’ll ask.” He sighed, a little wistfully. “Pie sounds great right now, actually.”

“Doesn’t it? I hope it’s blueberry lemon. No, chocolate strawberry. Oh, or her raspberry rhubarb.”

“Don’t get me started. I might drool.” Clark gave him a sidelong glance. “Have you tried her peachberry?”

“No. Is it good?”

“It’s amazing,” Clark assured him. “She uses this Canadian champagne in it. It sounds crazy, but it kind of flambes a little as it bakes. I’ll ask her to make it sometime, but she only does every few years. It’s a lot more work than her regular ones.”

The door slid open, the click of Wolf’s nails against the flooring heralding his arrival. Clutched carefully in his maw was a folded canvas shopping bag with navy hearts on it. He whuffed quietly around the obstruction, rearing up on his hind legs to drop it on Conner’s blanket wrapped feet before reclaiming his spot on the couch. 

“They literally sent you with a doggy bag?” Conner laughed again and tipped it open with a happy gasp. A handful of bags of mini trail mixes (at least three kinds), followed by an array of snack sized cheeto bags, followed by a large fairground sized bag of kettle corn. At least a dozen cellophane wrapped brownies dropped down on top of them, complete with chocolate chips-- probably the closest thing to M&Ms Wolf could find on such short notice. “You are such a good boy,” Conner enthused. “No-- you’re the bestest boy.”

Wolf yawned and settled down for a nap.

Clark whistled, staring at the pile. “Your dog has good taste.”

“He has a refined palate,” Conner told him, ripping open the bag of kettle corn and sending dozens of kernels pattering to the floor. Oops. Oh well. He grabbed a handful from his lap, unconcerned. “Among many other fine qualities.”

Clark looked at his hands. “This talk is actually much better than I thought it would. I even managed to say it all in one, awkward go.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re high.”

“No, you’re high. I’m sober. Remember?” Clark laughed and shook his head. Brows furrowed again. “Though I do feel a little strange.”

“Did anyone explain how they’ve been knocking me out and keeping the pain at bay?”

“Well, I know blue kryptonite compounds were used for the surgery, but I didn’t ask about your--” Clark paused. “Oh, no. Periwinkle?”

“Blue and silver kryptonite, Lex said.” Conner flicked his clear IV line and pointedly pressed the button to make a show of the pale blue liquid’s movement. “And I’m assuming the Watchtower doesn’t stock lead shielded IV lines. I mean, some of the medical techs seemed kind of freaked by the whole injecting kryptonite thing. Unusual practice, I take it.”

“Oh, my god. I’m high.” Clark’s eyes narrowed, a hint of outrage creeping into his tone. “And you didn’t warn me.”

“Nope.”

“On purpose?”

“Yep.”

“That’s why you let me come in and talk.” Clark covered his face with his hands and smashed himself face first into the mattress at the foot of Conner’s bed. His voice muffled, somewhere near Conner’s left foot. “Dammit. I bet I’ll be flying crooked on my way to see Ma and Pa. I better get out of here while I can still walk a straight line.”

Conner laughed. “Just enjoy it. You might as well.”

Clark seemed to drag his head up with an effort. “Promise me your new life philosophy is not ‘drugs are the answer’.”

“Of course not,” Conner cackled. He flopped back against his pillows, sending another wave of popcorn to the floor. “But it can make things easier. Being in pain. Saying hard things. Feeling less fear. Maybe it’ll get you off to a good start for the next conversation. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you just have to say it.”

“I’ll try and remember that,” Clark sighed, getting to his feet. “That’s one of my biggest problems: perfection. Well, and being terrified of being a bad person. It made me a bad person.”

Oh, god. No wonder him and M’gann had circled each other like passive aggressive tomcats. What was that saying about boys dating women like their mothers? Conner almost laughed. “Say that again with a straight face. Try not to think about how many orphans you’ve saved this week. Go on. I’ll wait.”

“I’m an asshole,” Clark amended.

“Yeah, but you’re other things too.” Conner plucked the biggest brownie from his pile and handed it to him. “Here. You’ve had a bad day.” 

Clark blinked rapidly and looked away, trying to hand it back. “Nowhere near as bad as yours.”

“Yeah, but I get to be high and hold babies and have treats brought to me,” Conner said sagely as he tore open another brownie and took a massive bite. “It helps a lot. Besides, you’re too hard on yourself. You fucked up and it hurt me, but that doesn’t make you a terrible person.”

“I’ll have to get your read on that when you’re sober. You might not feel the same.” Clark gave him a weary look. There was a small sparkle of warmth in it. “If you want to, that is. I’ll understand if you want me to stay away. No pressure.”

Conner couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Part of him knew that this was serious, that Clark was bearing open and bleeding wounds for Conner’s benefit. That Conner’s entire history was punctuated with pain the other man had caused, both with his presence and his absence alike. The other, bigger part of Conner didn’t really have the capacity to worry about it that much. He might be Superman’s son, but he was other things too now. Had been the whole time. “Seriously, Clark, stop with the self-flagellation. I’m mad at you, not filing a restraining order. We were both in a fucked up situation we didn’t deserve and neither of us handled it well. You might have hurt me, but you are not the villain of my story. So long as you stick to even half of what you’ve promised, I expect to see you at Christmas. I demand half-sibling cuddles when the baby is born. It can be awkward and painful to see each other sometimes and that’s fine. If the idea of that makes you want to claw your eyes out, say something now.”

“Of course it doesn’t.” Clark’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. “You really still want a relationship with me?”

Conner shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I love Lex and he’s an objectively awful person. The thing I want most is to not pretend. Followed by being loved. And having a family. That’s about it. You can be an asshole in between that stuff. I’m easy.”

Clark gave a soft huff of almost laughter, looking at the floor and smiling a little. “Yeah, I guess you are. Shame I was bad at giving you all that stuff for the last six years of your life.” He took a few steps towards the door. It slid open for him. Paused. Stared at the brownie in his hands. “I do love you, you know. Maybe not enough or not in the right way or whatever, but I do. I didn’t realize it until yesterday, but there it was, buried underneath all of my own bullshit.”

“Okay. Love you too, asshole. Fly safe.”

* * *

“Conner?”

Conner inhaled sharply through his nose, yanking himself out of his doze and turned to the door. He must have been out for longer than he thought-- his chest was a dull throb and while he felt okay, his easy amusement had faded. He should probably get on that pain sooner rather than later, though. Gave his switch a single press. “M’gann. Gar. Glad you could make it.”

“I’m sorry we’re so late,” M’gann said, standing uncertainly at the door as she met his eyes. It struck him suddenly, the similarities between her and Clark-- not just their fears, but the reason for them: two unusually powerful people, surrounded by the vulnerable. Still stuck with the same flaws and learning curves as everyone else, only with consequences magnified to match their impossible strength. “We left as soon as we heard. I mean…”

“We were on Mars! You should have seen it, dude. It’s way colder than it looks,” Gar said, seemingly not picking up on his ‘big sister’s’ hesitation. Conner suspected he was actually just ignoring it, for the sake of taking the pressure off her while he defused the tension. He was a good kid. Lots of social smarts. He strode forward and dropped himself on the couch next to Wolf. “Not sure the shifting lessons helped, though. I’m still limited to animal forms, but now I’ve got some cool Martian inspiration. Anyway, how are you feeling? M’gann said you’d been sick for a while, but she won’t tell me with what.”

“It’s not really any of your business,” she chided the teen gently, stepping closer to join him. “Privacy is important.”

“Thanks, M’gann,” Conner said, before turning back to the green boy and smiling. “But I’m not really keeping it a secret anymore. It actually wasn’t even what we initially thought it was.”

Gar paused in the act of scratching Wolf’s neck. “What did you think it was? Cancer or something?”

“We assumed it was cloning problems, actually.” Conner shrugged and immediately regretted it. Winced, dropping a soft hand to his chest. “Sorry, painkillers wore off. No, it actually turned out to be a bunch of different things that all worked out together to almost kill me, years afterwards. Seriously, listening to Lex explain how he figured it out was like hearing a summary of a House episode.”

“Lex?” Gar asked.

“Luthor.” Conner raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m half human, right? Lex is my other dad.”

Gar stared, flummoxed. “That sounds… confusing.”

“I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘existential nightmare’,” Conner said with a chuckle. “Anyway, he’s been helping me out the last few weeks.” He glanced up to see M’gann watching him, with oddly indecisive concern. Like she was afraid she didn’t have the right to ask. Unsure if they were still really friends. 

He didn’t blame her for wondering. She’d probably gone crazy worrying about him but had kept his secret anyway, despite him essentially ghosting her for four months. Perhaps he should find a moment to clarify that his radio silence hadn’t been some sort of punishment. Yeah, he’d spent a lot of that time stewing in bitter anger at what he’d chalked up to her pity, but as it faded, he’d belatedly realized it had made him an unjustly harsh critic of her character. Yes, her pity had been genuine, but so was the rest of her: her friendship, her trust, her care, her love for him that just maybe wasn’t the happily ever after kind despite however much they both wanted it to be. 

M’gann was more than one thing and just because their relationship hadn’t been perfect didn’t mean it didn’t have value.

He smiled at her, trying to mentally radiate his genuine happiness at seeing her, glad when the tension left some of her stance at it. “You might want to sit down. It’s kind of a long story.”

* * *

Conner rubbed his chest absently, after grabbing the side of his bed railing to haul himself upright. It was deep into the night, close to four AM, though Watchtower time seemed to exist in it’s own reality despite the dimming of the lights with the hours according to Greenwich standard time. Tired as he was and finally alone, he couldn’t do more than doze in the quiet. 

It was just as well, he supposed, yawning as he turned to look out his room’s window. Whatever alignment of rotations meant he could see the top half of the earth with a vivid clarity. Could make out the white swirl of clouds over landmasses, the flicker of lightning storms like elusive fireflies. 

“Still awake?” a voice asked.

Letting out an affirmative grunt, Conner shifted in his bed to see Batman. It was odd sometimes, seeing him without his cape. Less formal, in a way. In his arms was a white plastic container which he set on Conner’s tray table. He tipped it forward to show Conner the collection of cards, stuffed animals, and even a lone potted cactus inside. “Some of it’s from people who’ve already visited,” he explained. “But wanted to make up for lost time. J’onn’s been stopping people for the last hour from bringing it to you directly. It’s almost enough to make us consider enacting official visiting hours.”

Wolf’s whine was a grateful, unexpected noise. He’d gone back to curling up beneath Conner’s hospital bed, evidently done with the couch and it’s magnetic pull on people who wanted to fondle his ears rather than let him sleep. Conner might still be lingeringly high, and thus tentatively willing to entertain any idea, but he could relate.

Conner carefully plucked the cactus free and swept open the folded slip of paper attached to the side. _Figured you deserved a plant as hard to kill as you and about as communicative. Pick up the damn phone next time.--xoxo Artemis, Will, & Lian. _

“Oh, the baby’s name is Lian,” Conner said aloud, after a moment. “Didn’t catch that before.”

Batman snorted. “I suppose we can take that as confirmation that the bears haven’t gotten her.”

Conner turned somewhat pleading eyes on Batman. “Oh, god. Everyone’s heard about that, haven't they?”

“Dick came close to crashing the discretionary wifi network sending that video to everyone he knows,” he was informed. A small twitch of lips. “I had to route it through the official League connection.”

“Traitor.”

“I did have to intervene when he attempted to upload it to Youtube, however.”

“I take it back. You’re the best.”

Batman hmed as if to dismiss his gratitude. “A few frames had imagery or background noises that I feared could compromise the League. We edited them out first. Congratulations. You are now ‘baby bear high guy’.”

“Traitor.”

“Since you don’t seem to be asleep anyway,” Batman went on, glancing at Conner’s charts. “I was wondering if you felt up for two more visitors tonight. I explained that you would be resting until tomorrow morning at the very least, but they insisted on coming, even if they got stuck in the waiting room for the next twelve hours.”

Conner felt his forehead wrinkle in spite of himself, looking down at his hands. He’d only been in the Watchtower for about a day, tops. Who would want to see him that badly that hadn’t already--?.

_Oh._

Swallowing, he stared up at Batman from beneath his unbrushed fringe. “Depends. Did they bring pie?”

This time the twitching lips formed an actual smile. “I believe they did.”

* * *

Ma and Pa’s conversation with Clark had been fruitful, Conner gathered, though they never mentioned it outright. It wasn’t exactly hard to guess, though, given how Ma swept in with a cry of, “There you are! You nearly gave your grandpa a heart attack. Tell him, Jonathan.”

After a lot of fussing and confirmation of pulmonary distress (though something to their stances suggested that at least some of that probably had to do with Clark’s possibly inebriated confession), both of them settled in to listen to him give a somewhat distilled version of his surgical adventure. Followed immediately by concern for his health, which prompted another whole separate set of assurances that he felt much, much better now.

It wasn’t perfect. In fact, it was a little awkward. It was the best visit Conner had ever had with them, because he didn’t have to hedge for the sake of anyone else.

When he was done, Ma didn’t even give a cursory glance to check for nurses before serving him a massive slice of pie. “Now, this Lex Luthor you’ve mentioned-- he’s your other father? The one who made you?”

Apparently, Clark hadn’t skimped on big details. “Well, yes, technically.”

“Technically?”

“Yes, he’s my dad, but technically, he didn’t make me himself; I was grown by Cadmus scientists in DC. According to his official statement, he was one of several board members and didn’t directly contribute to the project in ‘any knowing or meaningful capacity not limited to the theoretical.’” Conner shrugged. As awkward as it was to explain, it was really, really nice not to have to lie about it. “That was more about dodging the legal ramifications for making me. Even the people who have read the official report find it suspicious that Lex has such specific knowledge of my genome and development, aside from the fact that I just so happen to be half made of his own DNA. They just can’t prove otherwise. Why?”

“Is he still around?”

Conner squinted at her. “You mean in my life or in the Watchtower now? Because the answer to both is yes.”

There was a steely glint in his grandma’s eye. “So it’s him I need to talk to about baby pictures.”

* * *

Conner yawned, watching his reflection do the same in the little personal mirror a medical tech had left for him. It was the most time he’d ever spent in front of one. He just looked so… strange. Beyond the tiredness blinking in the corners of his eyes or the somewhat lank nature of his unbrushed hair. Lex had been right-- he wasn’t identical to Clark after all, beyond a cursory glance. The differences were small, yes, but with a little searching were easy enough to spot: he was a little (he grimaced) chink-y around the eyes, as promised. His nasal bridge a bit narrower. Cheekbones a little higher than they were sharp. Irises a little more lagoon than cobalt.

He scrunched his whole face up, first wrinkling his nose, then smiling as hard as he could and twisting his lips to either side. Nope. No dimples.

Thank god.

He pushed the mirror away. Somehow, recognizing that his face was a blend of two separate sets of features had helped him realize he was neither. Kaldur would be proud.

Carefully stretched his arms out. His stitches protested, but didn’t quite flare into actual pain. Whether it was the adjustment of his painkillers (both Batman and J’onn had given Lex dirty looks when they discovered an “error” in his calculations that had resulted in Conner having more periwinkle in his IV than was deemed “strictly necessary”) or his suddenly functional healing remained to be seen. His surgery had only been a day and a half ago, but already his skin had fused itself back together and only a click of periwinkle every four hours was now all it took to manage the pain. He’d gotten out of bed to use the bathroom himself this morning, though he’d been sternly instructed to be extremely careful with his movement and not bother his stitches.

(He’d waited only until J’onn had left the room to pull off the bandage covering the stitching so he could admire/be creeped out by the scar while he still had it. Lex guessed it’d be gone by midday tomorrow with an amused, clinical glance.)

“What are you working on?” he asked Lex, yawning again.

Propped up on the couch, Lex glanced up from his tablet with a furrowed look. “Hm. Oh. It’s just another treatment proposal. I’ve already discussed it with Manhunter. I’ll show you--” he flicked his stylus along the screen. In response, the wall across from Conner’s bed illuminated into a digital screen. There was some sort of cross section of a tiny spherical cage with many retractable layers. “Early design for something to replace your kryptonite injections. The periwinkle compound’s radiation should still be effective externally, so these lead layers control the dosage from your pocket. J’onn says you can be released tomorrow, though he’d prefer to keep you under observation at one of the League locations until all of your organs have reached at least seventy five percent functionality. That’ll probably take a few more stem cell injections to get you there, but those will be spaced further out. Once you’re fully recovered, we’ll treat your solar saturated skin cells. That’s a separate set of mockups.”

Conner blinked. “How many designs have you given them since you got here?”

That warranted a long suffering stare. “Son, I just pioneered an entire form of radiological Kryptonian medicine, not to mention it’s hybrid human subset.” Lex grimaced down at his tablet. “And the answer is seventeen, with nine in the works. Don’t get me started on the dozens more they will no doubt extract from my notes when all is said and done. It’s appalling, really, how underprepared they are for this sort of thing. Evidently, their current approach to Superman’s medical care is to remove any visible kryptonite and stick him in a sunny room. Like a wilting houseplant that keeps prattling on about morality and interventionism.”

Conner gave only a bare shrug in response to that. “I mean, it works?”

“That’s exactly what’s so appalling about it.”

Conner snorted and glanced around at his little room. More cards and gifts seemed to have migrated onto the counters, creating a neat little outpouring that he couldn’t stop himself from being surprised by. Nice as it all was, Conner was looking forward to getting out of here and back to…

Actually, that was a decent question. One Conner had only been poking around the edges of as he’d come down from his periwinkle haze. All of his decisions for the last few months had been centered around the certainty of dying and now that it was no longer likely (his latest scans confirmed that, even if he’d had to have it explained to him four times before he dared believe it), he realized he had no other goals.

The universe had abruptly handed him his life back and he didn’t have the first damned idea what to do with it.

He hadn’t been lying to Lex on the deck that night-- he wasn’t sure he even wanted to be a superhero anymore. Maybe he’d feel differently when his powers came back at more than a trickle, but he doubted it. He’d wanted to leave even before he’d known he was sick, though the thought had only just crystallized a few months before his diagnosis. There hadn’t been time to figure out what else he wanted to do. If Lex was right and the solar saturation had a hand in his non-aging, technically, Conner could begin planning for an adult life. Could grow up, at last, into whatever kind of man he wanted to be. 

It was terrifying in a thrilling sort of way. 

He turned back to Lex, who’d lapsed back into his work. “What about you?”

“Questions require context, son. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“Are you really stuck here?”

“Legally speaking, no: even a cheap lawyer could easily make a case for wrongful detainment and while the League could rustle up some plausible excuse, it wouldn’t hold up for more than a day or so.” Lex rolled his neck out, wincing with every soft pop. “Unofficially speaking, I might as well be. I’ve made them paranoid for very good reasons, so they will do whatever they can to keep hold of me until they can confirm I won’t be selling anti-Superman lightbulbs out of vending machines by next Tuesday. Cutting me out of the loop from your care was the initial threat, though that’s significantly harder now. Still, they could make some trouble for me by leveraging my past and current associates; I might not be without power and resources, but I also don’t want to spend those or my time fighting unnecessary wars. It’s simply more beneficial for me to play along with their unacknowledged house arrest. For now.”

Conner chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Sorry. I know I forced you into this position--”

“You did no such thing.” Lex said, giving him a rankled look that he didn’t even try to pass off as sincere. “Nobody forces me to do anything. Besides, I imagine it’ll be less than a week before they cheerfully cram me into the fastest shuttle home.”

“You’re that close to a solution already?”

Lex shook his head. “Easier. The radiation that locked your cells doesn’t seem to be problematic to his. Superman’s cell cultures release the useless energy almost immediately, rather than trapping it. It’s hard to know why, but for the sake of me leaving unharassed, it doesn’t matter. They just have to confirm the findings. Otherwise, everything else I’ve learned is only damaging to you.” 

“No profit in anti-legacy light bulbs, I assume.”

“It’s not a lucrative business model.” Lex raised his eyebrows and gave a oh-so-casual prod to his tablet’s screen. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when you’re discharged?”

“Apart from keeping up with my many outpatient treatments or being yelled at properly now that I don’t have enough tubes in me that anyone feels bad about it?” Conner eased back on his bed. “Not a lot. To be honest, I’ve put a lot more thought into dying on my own terms than living on them. Why?”

Lex pursed his lips and shook his head in an almost shrug, still looking at his tablet with unconcern. “Just curious. I have plenty of apartments scattered around the metropolis area, plus another few properties here and there. You’re welcome to stay at any of them while you decide what it is you want to do, especially if it helps you avoid getting saddled with babysitting the Just Kids League in your downtime.”

Conner laughed at that. “I might take you up on that. Except I kind of miss them, too. I might do part time, once I’m a bit better. It’s complicated. I’ll have to think on it.”

“Take your time,” Lex said, settling back into his seat. “You won’t be rid of me for a while. I’ll have to supervise your treatments, of course. And the solar saturation problem. Probably a good idea to track your growth from there-- we don’t want any aging powers to put strain on your system.”

Not remotely fooled, Conner added, “We could also go out and see movies or get brunch like normal families. You know. For variety.”

Lex gave him a smug glance, flicking something on the screen decisively. “Well, if you insist. No flannel.”

“No drinking at brunch.”

“Some flannel.”

“Deal.”

Conner’s future was still pretty nebulous, but bit by bit it was taking shape. There’d be more health stuff, sure, but there’d also be visits with his friends, plus now whatever the hell brunch with Lex amounted to. Clark was an uncertain (but not unwelcome) concept in his mind, as was Lois and the baby, so he wasn’t sure what to expect from them but Ma and Pa seemed relentless in their quest to bludgeon him with Kansian familial love. He’d been promised Peachberry pie for Thanksgiving, too, which was definitely-- 

Oh, god, was Lex going to want to celebrate holidays with him too now? How would that work? Conner tried to imagine him around the farm’s kitchen table and failed. In fact, there were probably all sorts of Luthor traditions he’d have to become acquainted with, at least half of which he could safely anticipate filling him with dismay. Yeah, maybe separate celebrations were the way to go, if he could figure out how to schedule it… Surely there was protocol for this sort of thing. Surely, there were bitter, divorced parents in the world whose animosity compared to arch nemeses. Surely _their_ children had some sort of system worked out.

Right?

Actually, his future was looking pretty complicated. Conner couldn’t bring himself to mind. 


	10. Epilogue

At the top of the stairs of the newly appointed Justice Hall, Batman and Green Lantern waited for Conner with matching grimaces; oddly enough, Batman had a newspaper tucked beneath his arm (and wasn’t he more the digital type?). Conner stomped his way up, bouncing Lian impatiently on his hip. He’d only barely managed to remember to grab the baby-supply-bag (calling it a diaper bag felt stupid) at the last second, though he had no idea what was in there. Hopefully it was enough to get them through the bullshit. “What’s he done this time?” 

“Good to see you too, kid. I’m digging the purse.” Hal led the way through the warren of tall, cavernous hallways. Following the destruction of the Hall of Justice by L-Ron, a new building had been needed in DC to handle the bulk of the diplomatic and governmental busywork that the League found themselves subject to in order to operate legally. Since an endless wave of government workers and foregin diplomats through the Watchtower posed a significant security risk, ground was immediately broken and the similarly named but newly designed Justice Hall was thrown together in under a week. This was the first time Conner had seen it in person, but Kaldur had mentioned it could be confusing to navigate. 

“It’s more about what he wants to do that we’re worried about,” the Bat said. “Did you hear about his recent recommendation by the U.N Security Council for the position of Secretary General?”

“Last I checked, he was laying low while his chemo wrapped up.” Conner scowled, gently thwarting Lian’s attempts to shove her fist in his mouth. Again. “When was this? I haven’t been keeping up with the news lately, but it’s only been for a week.”

“Well, Lex has been busy and he moves quickly. He was able to secure the initial votes, so all that’s left is for a final vote at the general assembly and he’ll be confirmed for the position. From what our intel indicates, he’s going to get it.” Batman’s entire lower face could have been hewn from stone. 

Angry, displeased stone.

Hal heaved a sigh, skirting past a group of Amazonian women in business suits with a polite nod. “Why? He’s been to prison four times. He’s almost gone at least a dozen more. Yet people can’t stop handing him power. I don’t understand it.”

“There’s a difference between being charged and being convicted,” Batman countered. “And Lex’s lawyers have always managed to twist things so he looked like either a victim of circumstance or a moralistic CEO who only pretended to be evil so he could take the real bad guys down. It certainly worked on the Reach trial, if only barely, so I imagine he’s switching arenas for a while. Regardless of why, the fact is that he’s going to be voted in by the end of the week and there is little we can do to stop it.”

“So where do I come in?” Conner raised an eyebrow. 

Batman grimaced. “Now that’s an interesting question. He showed up here himself, saying he wanted to give the League the opporuntity to ask whatever questions we may have about his appointment as well as to offer his earnest efforts at resolving a meta-human trafficking problem in Bialiya. A show of good faith, in the spirit of close collaboration with the League. We believe his information is good. The only problem is, he refuses to talk to anyone but you.”

“Me?” Conner felt his mouth drop open. “Why? I have no standing in the League. I’m only part time with the Team, if that. He could have called me--” he broke off.

Damn.

“Evidently, he tried that.”

Conner pinched the bridge of his nose. “I left my phone behind in the Watchtower for that recon mission: I had my communicator, so I didn’t even think about. Then Will and Artemis had a family emergency with Jade come up and since I’m the only unemployed babysitter that could stay for an unspecified amount of time….” he sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, glaring at the ground. “I’m going to kill him if he gets elected to the UN because he thought I was ignoring his texts.”

Hal snickered. “Don’t say that in front of so many heroes, buddy. Seriously. Alibi.”

“So you need me to go in and ask him about the meta-human ring?”

“That is today’s goal,” Batman confirmed. Pausing outside the door, he held out the newspaper. “But first, there’s something I think you should see…”

* * *

“God damn it, Dad,” Conner snapped, slapping the paper down on the gleaming marble top table. “This is about the name change again, isn’t it?”

The room they were in was sunny and bright, full of long thin windows divided by columns. Vases of tasteful flowers hovered attentively on tables, while large and vaguely apolitical oil paintings hung from the walls. Batman and Green Lantern’s soft steps were muffled by discrete, thin rugs whose color chart name was probably something insufferable like Goodwill Among Men Green. Conner took it all in with only a short glance, before redirecting the power of his glower at the man seated at the table, staring languidly at his phone. 

Lex raised an eyebrow. “There’s my son. It’s so good to see that you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere. I did wonder when you neither responded to my many attempts to contact you nor returned home for over a week.”

Conner groaned. “I knew you were watching me over the security cameras--”

“I check in to confirm your safety on occasion, yes.”

“--but fine. Whatever. I’m creeped out but not exactly surprised.” Conner stabbed a finger at the paper. “But what does surprise me is this. Care to explain?”

With a breezy glance, Lex pulled the paper towards himself and flipped it open with the air of a Sunday morning peruse. Dug around in his lapel pocket for a pair of reading glasses Conner knew he kept entirely for show (he’d had Lasik, damn it) and perched them on the edge of his nose before scanning the article. “Ah, yes. I see you have managed to hear the good news about my nomination. It would be nicer if we could just chat, rather than rely on the papers to keep us up to date on the going ons in each other's lives.”

“Final paragraph,” Conner grit out.

“Ah, yes,” Lex said. “ _Regarding Mr. Luthor’s four month withdrawal from the business world, a spokesman from LexCorp said that he has been taking time away to finish recovering from his successful cancer treatments, preferring to celebrate his remission privately at home with his son, Conner._ A little misleading, I know, but technically the home you are living in is one of mine even if only one of us resides there. Or you _were_ residing there, last I checked.”

Conner threw up his hands, waving one at Lian, currently held in Hal’s arms, happily distracted by a dancing elephant shape made entirely of green light. “Something came up, because _sometimes_ , other families have emergencies too, Lex. I forgot my phone. Christ, you could have just called someone in the League if you were really that worried.”

Lex glanced around the room. “I did. And here we are.”

“You could have done that without being nominated--” Conner broke off and felt his eyebrows steeple sharply. Stared at Lex. Crossed his arms. “You want something. I knew it. This _is_ the name change thing. I told you. I like Kent.” He huffed and glanced away, grumbling, “Conner Luthor sounds stupid. The repetition is in the wrong place.”

Lex’s glanced waspishly over the eyeglasses as he removed them. “Our differing opinions on syllabic symmetry aside, this is _not_ about the name change thing. Look around you, if you don’t believe in the gravity of the situation. The UN Secretary General is an important position with world altering consequences. Meta human lives are at stake.” Punctuating that final point with his folded glasses, Lex let the silence trail for a good two seconds. “This is about your birth certificate. And fine, a little bit about your name.”

Conner dropped into a chair, covering his face in his hands. “Really? You want to do this now?”

“Amending it should be a straightforward matter. From what I understand, there is no father currently listed on your legal documentation, as your cover story was that of a child of a drug addicted single mother from Honolulu who fell into foster care when she overdosed. I’m happy to spin some narratively satisfying story about forbidden love or a forgettable affair or whatever you like so long as it makes it easier to leave you my money when I die.” Lex reached into a pocket of his briefcase and pulled out a small sheaf of legal documents. Summoned a fountain pen with a surreptitious click. “Just a few signatures and we can discuss the meta human crisis in Bialiya.”

Conner didn’t budge, gaze flat. “You’re not dying.”

“Not anymore.”

“You haven’t been dying for weeks.”

“More good news, yes.”

“Which means,” Conner continued. “This isn’t purely about inheritance. Or my name. We’ve had these conversations before and while you twisting my arm by leveraging the lives of innocents does not remotely surprise me, the timing is too convenient. I know you too well to believe this was coincidence.” He stabbed a finger at the paper. “That was published this morning, so that quote is from yesterday. This nomination came out of nowhere, but you’ve got enough dirt on politicians to turn the fucking moon into an international space garden, so I fully believe you could make it happen in a few days. So tell me: what does my birth certificate have to do with me not coming home for a week?”

Lex glared at him.

Conner glared back. 

The silence was fraught-- both with familial ire and the far more legitimate frustration of those impacted by it professionally and politically. 

Regardless, everyone was glaring at Lex.

“I may have incorrectly assumed,” Lex said, at length. “That when you appeared to drop off the face of the developed world with your mutt, that the only logical place you could have gone was Kansas. Where else could be immune to cellular signals and traffic cameras?”

“You have access to traffic cameras--” Hal began.

“I was babysitting in Star City,” Conner wailed, pointing again at Lian. “And why would you care if I visited my grandparents anyway? You’ve never cared before. I’m seeing them next week. They keep inviting you to come with!”

“I don’t care about them,” Lex huffed, staring vexedly out an adjacent window. “But even if your other father has learned to play nicely, it doesn’t mean he gets to swoop in and claim you just because your names already match or if you decide you’d rather live in Kansas. I’m the better parent and I want credit. He can’t have this.”

“He’s not getting it!” Conner dragged his hands through his hair. “I’m not moving to Kansas. I’ve never offered to amend my birth certificate for him. I didn’t even know his last name was Kent when I picked mine.”

“That does make me feel better.”

“You are unbelievably petty. Tell me about the meta-humans.”

Lex waved the pen. “Sign first.”

“Unbelievably petty,” Conner repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose with his hands. Realized he was imitating Lex and stopped. “You actually nearly became the Secretary General of the UN out of spite.”

Lex shrugged, unruffled. “Yes, but I think I’ll go through with it now. Sounds fun.”

“Fun,” Batman repeated, tone devoid of any knowledge of said word.

“You do realize the UN handles all of the sanctions regarding the Justice League, even on a nation specific level.” Lex let out a happy sigh and pressed a steadying hand to his no-doubt shriveled heart. “My job will be to legitimately harass Superman. Legally. On Television. For at least five years, with no term limits. You know, they say your golden years are so great because you finally get to devote all your time to doing what you love….”

* * *

In the Hall’s security room, Conner clenched his fists at his father’s composed show of shuffling through his legal papers on screen. The unnecessary reading glasses had made a comeback to complete the pageantry. He sighed and dug around in the supplies-that-are-often-diapers bag, relieved to find a bottle with pre measured formula. A quick detour to a drinking fountain later and he gave Lian her lunch, albeit a lumpy, not fully dissolved one. He’d make it up to her later with extra fruit snacks. “So, what does this mean for the League?”

“A five year headache,” Batman said with only a bare trace of humor. “It’ll be difficult for him to act against us openly, unless there’s some kind of incident to sway the rest of the UN. He won’t be without oversight, but there are plenty of annoying things he can do without running the risk of being vetoed.”

“He isn’t appointed yet, Spooky,” Hal pointed out. “There’s still time. Can’t we call in favors?”

“Apart from the huge breach of ethics that asking any member to change their vote would pose? No, not really. The UN is largely pro-Justice League on a public level, but they get nervous about our independence from them as much as any one country: they just do it all together now and call it a meeting. Still, our impact is more positive than negative and their best interests are in cooperating with us to ensure we play by their rules: generally, the Secretary General is expected to be our chief collaborator. I didn’t think Lex could pull something like this off before because he’s always been so outspoken against the League, but he’s been busy. His success with the Rhodesian treaty managed to help paint his arguable assistance of the Reach in a less harsh light, plus his time helping you recover on the Watchtower has played favorably behind closed doors.”

Conner arched an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Superboy existing, much less as Lex Luthor’s son, is still mostly a secret to the general public, but it is becoming much more widely known in the justice community. Not only did he get the benefit of being seen during your treatment and providing us with at least a dozen designs he’s chosen not to patent for ‘the good of humanity’, but now he also gets to soak in the assumption that because of you, he has layers of interest in seeing the League succeed.”

“But he hates Superman,” Hal objected. “Why do they think he made a kid with Superman if he didn’t… oh. It totally makes him look less opposed to the League.” He wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t that also make him look like a creepy stalker who made an illegal clone kid? _How is that not worse_?”

“Hybrid,” Conner said. “Not a clone.”

“Not by sticking to his story that he didn’t know his DNA was used, that Cadmus was trying to capitalize on his intellect when they chose him for a second genetic donor,” Batman countered. “In light of that, it looks like he’s making the best out of an unexpected situation. Regardless, it still does the job of subtly convincing the general assembly that he’s got plenty of motivation to play nicely with us, whether he wants to or not.” He ended that with a glance at Conner. “‘Or not’ being a very real possibility we can capitalize on.”

Conner gave him a flat look. “Are you asking me to keep up my relationship with my mean science dad in order to give the League leverage over the next Secretary General?”

“If you’d be so kind.” 

“Okay,” Conner said, holding up a hand. “I’ll do it, because I’m already going to and because I’d actually decided to amend my birth certificate for the sake of making him happy before he pulled this bullshit. That’s fine. Lex is in my life to stay, but--” and here he dragged the word out with a firm look at the Bat. “--I meant what I said about being VERY part time. Not just with the missions, but with this too.”

Batman nodded. “Understood.”

“I want to make sure you do.” Conner bounced Lian as she gave a warning burble. Hal brought the dancing elephant back to life over his shoulder, grinning at Conner’s grateful nod. “This isn’t just about me wanting to go back to school. I only have so much give-a-damn per calendar year about whatever Lex is subjecting the world to. I know I should be better than that. I know I should care about the plight of others without reserve, but it is what it is. I’m only half boy scout. Remember that. Ration that.”

“I can’t promise Lex won’t do multiple awful things a year.”

“Of course not. _Lex_ can’t promise that,” Conner said with a sigh. “And I’m not asking you to. I’m just reminding you about the reality of the situation. My patience is a finite resource. If you come to me and tell me what bad things he’s doing, I promise I will get upset. I will yell at him. It will come up at family dinners and holidays. I will apply pressure where I can, but-- and I cannot stress this enough-- I _will_ run out the ability to care at some point, so please, before you ask me to make a stink about anything, ask yourself if it’s really that important.”

* * *

Lex practically vibrated out of his chair with open delight as Conner dropped into the chair beside him and picked up the pen. He pushed the shief towards him-- apparently he’d spent their little break attaching post-it note arrows to the signature and initial lines, the smug bastard-- and grinned. “It should barely take a week to finish processing this,” he said, as Conner began scribbling on each page. “Just in time for the gala being thrown in honor of my appointment. It would be nice,” he added, as Conner scribbled the final one. “To introduce you as Conner Luthor. You know. To avoid confusion. Don’t worry-- I brought the legal name change application as well--”

“No.” Conner scowled. “I’m going to be your bastard baby with a Hawaiian drug addict. The last thing people are going to care about is my last name. Metahuman information now.”

Lex crossed his arms. “But--”

“Don’t you dare re-neg on this deal. I don’t care if we didn’t specify exact terms with evil-genie-thwarting levels of specifism. I will walk away right now.”

“Of course not, son,” Lex said, sliding a plain black flash drive towards him with only a mild show of affront. “Here’s the information in full. I always keep my word to you. I merely bring it up because it would be easier to file the forms together and we both know the topic will come up again.”

Conner passed the flash drive over his shoulder to Batman, waiting until the man waved it over the tech in his glove’s wrist and nodded to him. “I told you, I don’t want to change my name right now. I’m already living at your house and now legally going to be your child. It is already a lot.”

“I understand. I won’t bring it up again right away. Give you a break.” Lex spread his hands, then examined his nails. “Besides, it’ll give Batman time to thoroughly examine that flash drive first. Legal name changes can get a bit complicated sometimes, paperwork wise. He may wish to observe the process for his own future reference.”

“Explain.” The Batman’s voice held no hint of a question.

Conner briefly considered slamming his head into the table. Or Lex’s. What was he up to this time? “For fuck’s sake, Dad.”

Lex shrugged innocently. “No, no. I shouldn’t gossip, especially not about any problematic former criminal associates who may or may not have acquired some very specific-purpose information from me. I don’t know for sure what she means to do with it, it’s just somewhat easy to infer.” Lex sighed. “Such things could put me at significant risk, after all. I’d certainly need a good reason to even consider it. Forget I said anything.”

“She.” Batman said.

Conner heaved a sigh he felt to his toes. It was bad enough having to deal with Lex’s bullshit, but it was four times worse when he was being a cryptic asshole about it. “Middle initial L and I spell out Luthor only on forms that specifically require it. Take it or leave it.”

“Are you willing to consider hyphenating Luthor-Kent?”

“Middle initial L, take it or leave it.”

“Deal,” Lex said with a frown, obviously willing to settle for a partial victory. “But only if you agree to attend the gala with me and let me introduce you as my heir.”

“Do I have to wear a tux?”

“Yes.”

Another sigh. “Fine, but only for an hour.”

“It’s a four hour event. Your legal name will last a lifetime. Or at least I’m assuming it will unless Superman does something heinous enough to warrant your distance. I can only dream.”

“Two hours?”

“Three, and I don’t tell people you’re going to study business.”

“I’m not going to study business, so that seems to be the obvious choice.”

“Medical school is my second vote.”

“You don’t get a vote,” Conner said. “And after this, you’re not going to get to hear what I’m considering going back to school for, much less any other major life decisions I’m thinking about. Stop meddling. You know it's way too late to try tiger-momming me, right?.”

Lex sighed. “You said it yourself: you’re already going to be my bastard child with a Hawaiian drug addict. Give me something to tell people apart from ‘not going to be a history teacher’.”

“I’m on a gap year. You just had cancer. Lots of kids take gap years, especially when a parent has cancer.”

“I can feel my intel that would specifically benefit Batman growing vaguer by the second.”

Conner glowered, then twisted in his chair to include Batman in it. To convey that his well of patience was running dry, one day into the aforementioned year. Turned back around to face his dad. “Fine, medical school it is, but we don’t get specific about what subfield I’m studying and I get to change my mind later without any complaining.”

“Wonderful. I’ll schedule the tux fitting.” Lex pulled out his phone and started hammering his fingers against it, looking for all the world like a card shark drawing the pot to his corner of the table. While technically nothing he’d asked for was that bad, it was annoying as hell how Lex had gone around getting it. And frankly, a petty part of Conner felt like he was getting cleaned out. “Now, I am feeling so much more chatty, but I’d suggest we continue this conversation on the Watchtower. After all--” Lex glanced around the room. “I wouldn’t call this especially secure. Not with the amount of bureaucrats already coming and going. Anyone could slip into a delegation. I’d hate to tip anyone off that any information had leaked.”

“Finally,” Conner said, stood and reached for Lian. It had already been such a pain to wake her up for her nap in order to answer the summons that had come over his communicator. Frankly, he suspected he was operating on borrowed time with her as it was: he certainly wasn’t the best or most knowledgeable babysitter, but he knew that hours of exhausted crying was a sign that he wasn’t doing great. Just because Artemis and Will’s expectations were more along the lines of ‘adult-like person who can assist with life sustaining functions and dial 911’ didn’t mean that Conner wanted the headache of listening to Lian’s piercing, displeased screeches.

It was almost enough to make him wish his super hearing hadn’t come back.

“Did I make that part unclear?” Lex posited aloud. “Obviously, you’ve got to be part of all ongoing conversations. It’s bad enough having to talk to Halloween Detective as it is, but without the opportunity to spend precious time with my son, it’s quite untenable. I’m good for the intel, but we’ll just have to have the conversation another time or maybe over email--”

“Luthor,” Batman growled.

Conner whipped around and gave him a look that was borderline feral. “ _We’re getting brunch next week-- what is this bullshit that we don’t spend time together-_ -”

Green Lantern turned to Batman, bouncing Lian. “I say we just all go up to the Watchtower. I mean, they’re both shouting. What's soundproofing like here? We might as well take twenty minutes, get to the Watchtower, hear that Lex heard a rumor that the Brain is up to something, and then we can all be annoyed and go home. Clear the zeta requests?”

Lex wasn’t even paying attention to the other two, eyes locked on Conner. “Oh, forgive me. I just spent an entire week wondering if you’d died on a mission, been kidnapped by one of my competitors, or worse-- decided to move to Kansas. While I’m sure they have something approximating brunch in Hicksville, you can’t expect me to--”

“What kidnapper could possibly worry you? You built me to be the biological equivalent of a tank. I’m nearly up to my full power and we haven’t even started the skin cell therapy yet.”

“We’re clear,” Batman said a moment later, releasing his comm.

“Field trip,” Hal announced, gently grabbing Conner by the shoulder and steering him towards the door. Batman did much the same with Lex, if by “grabbing by the shoulder” you meant “radiated menace until Lex stepped away involuntarily” and by “steering” you meant “scaled the threat of physical violence to indicate the correct direction to walk”.

Neither father nor son paused in their argument.

“The kind that carry kryptonite, Conner. I mean, yes, my designated ransom funds account is doing well this year, but just because I have the money doesn’t mean that the risk to your wellbeing is irrelevant. All it takes is one idiot who doesn’t know how much radiation is too much and suddenly I’m out a kid because public schools don’t teach science or math at acceptable standards.” Lex took in a deep breath. “Which really only serves the point I was making at our last brunch: if I could find you without having to jump through hoops--”

“For the last time, Dad,” Conner snarled, stepping onto the zeta platform and ignoring the smooth chime of **Superboy B04** . “-- _we are not putting a tracking device in my arm_.”

“Of course not. I’ve reconsidered my former position. That would be inappropriate.” Lex held up a hand, having startled Conner into sudden silence. He waved it after a beat. “It would be easy to spot with a rudimentary scanner and would just encourage kidnappers to maim you. You could probably grow an arm back, but I don’t want to test this theory. A spinal column implant, on the other hand--”

The zeta tube roared. “You are not going anywhere near my spine--”

* * *

Lian’s patience dried up not a second after Green Lantern and Batman had ushered them into a questioning room with only a bare metal table and chairs. She’d been fairly mollfied by the shouting, oddly enough (then again, Conner had discovered he could soothe her to sleep with action movies, so maybe it wasn’t out of her wheelhouse), but as soon as things had fallen stonily quiet again, she seemed to remember that she’d only gotten half a nap and not a lot of play time. 

Of course, the smell wafting from her served as another hint as to what had put her in such a mood. 

Hal immediately dumped her back in Conner’s arms. “That’s your cue, baby bear high guy.”

Conner groaned, but steered himself towards the door. There was probably an empty room nearby where he could change her, if only to avoid Lex being an asshole about it. “Don’t.”

“You realize that meme is still trending. What was the last count, Spooky?”

“Eight point five million views,” Batman said.

“Have you heard the autotune remix? Okay, I don’t usually go for those, but it's pretty good….”

By the time he’d gotten her changed, Superman and Martian Manhunter had found their way over to the questioning room. Conner was a little surprised to see the former, given that baby Jon was only a month old and Clark was helping out as Lois’ maternity leave wrapped up. He wasn’t sure if they were still moving forward with the divorce, but he was pretty sure they would: so far as questioning someone’s fitness as a parent went, concealing and excluding a secret kid from the family was pretty high up on the list of things that might shake someone's faith (though he suspected that there were probably... other things behind the decision too). Things may have gotten more amicable between them in the last four months, but Clark was still living in Gotham in one of Bruce’s apartments. At least he had the time to help out with the baby occasionally; the transition of the League’s leadership to Black Canary had been pretty straightforward, apart from the surge of gossip in its wake as to why.

(The more family drama they had under a spotlight, the more Conner was beginning to understand why Superman had been such a mess to begin with. Christ. The amount of people who’d approached him with outright invasive questions was staggering.)

Yet somehow Clark seemed to thrive as his life shattered around him, revealing something bright and fierce at his core. A new sunny, optimistic streak seemed to run through him: even his lone forehead curl seemed to have gotten a newfound spunk. Strange as it was to Conner some days, maybe it really wasn’t: older Leaguers made comments about getting the ‘old Superman’ back. He and Conner hadn’t really met up outside of family gatherings yet, like the baby’s birth and holidays, but they texted fairly often (and more than random apologies from Clark at 3AM, thank god). Conner wasn’t sure yet what their relationship would be, but it was better than what they’d had: Clark’s heartrate didn’t spike when they bumped into each other anymore and his smiles came without the ersatz edge. It was hard to guess, at least before Clark was done with his personal-renaissance or journey of self discovery or whatever he was calling it in his head. 

(Well, or until he and Batman figured out what those long stares they kept sharing meant. Conner was pretty sure everyone else had solved that mystery, but god help whatever idiot got stuck trying to explain it to them.)

(His money was on Dick.)

Superman gave him a mischievous smile as he approached. “Let me guess. You handled any bears.”

“Not you too,” Conner said, without much heat. He returned the smile, somewhat tiredly. “Did I miss anything exciting?”

“I was just telling Superman the happy news,” Lex purred, waving the legal documents around. 

Conner groaned, trying to pass the baby to Hal again. 

The Green Lantern shook his head at Conner’s imploring look. “I did my time. I thought you were the sitter. Why do babies want to grab your eyeballs or your teeth?”

“Ask someone who knows anything about babies.”

“I thought you loved babies.”

He was never going to escape that stupid video. Conner was developing a streak of fatalism over the whole experience. “Do you love cake, Hal? Bake us a cake. Explain the chemistry involved.”

Hal sighed. “But your arms don’t even get tired!”

“Use your ring,” Conner insisted, holding Lian out again. “Arguing with Lex requires free hands. There’s a lot of gesturing involved and I didn’t think to bring Will’s… chest backpack thing. I don’t know what it’s called. It’s essentially a baby holster.”

Hal snickered then blinked. “Hey, wait a minute. What are those called?”

“If you want to spectate, you have to pitch in,” Conner countered, insistently thrusting Lian at him until Hal relented and created a green light bassinet to rock her in. He turned back to his dad with a hard look and put his hands on his hips. “Don’t tell me you dragged us all the way up here so you could rub the birth certificate amendment in Superman’s face.”

Lex gave him a humoring shrug. “Alright, I won’t tell you.” He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face for more than a second. “It was also so I could gloat over you taking my name--”

“Middle initial. Don’t push it.”

“--but I’ll be the bigger man,” Lex finished magnanimously with a final satisfied glance at the mildly annoyed Kryptonian across from him. He turned back to his son. “And get straight to the information you wanted: The League of Shadows has taken a very specific interest in cloning technology.”

“Thanks, Baldy,” Hal chimed in. “It’s not like we didn’t know they raided Cadmus and took Roy. So helpful.”

“You said it was specific to Batman,” Conner prompted. “Something that could only have so many applications.”

Lex grinned wolfishly. Conner felt a sudden stab of dread at the glimmer in his eye: Lex must have been sitting on this one for a while, just waiting for the right moment. Damn it. “Indeed. Actually, I ended up sharing some research with Talia al Ghul in particular. She’s an old friend of yours, right, Batman? Her interests were narrow. In fact, it had mostly to do with how we grew Conner.”

Superman paled. “Not again.”

“Relax, Supersperm. Talia didn’t want any of my alien specific research, she mostly just wanted to know how to build an artificial womb and force grow a human baby to term.”

Batman froze.

Lex stared across the table with obvious relish. “Now, I’m not putting words into her mouth, but it’s not exactly a stretch to figure out what your crazy ex-girlfriend is up to.”

“Did you just confess to selling a known terrorist secret government research?” Hal inquired, rocking the bassinet ever so slightly. “Right before your political power is secured? I take it you didn’t think that one through.”

Lex flicked an unimpressed glance at the camera mounted in the corner. “I suppose you could accuse me of something, if you wanted. Not that it’ll stick. Of course, that would be an ungracious way to repay me for the heads up. After all, if Talia ‘not an ounce of body fat and gets kicked in the stomach twice a week’ al Ghul shows up with a story about how her and Batman’s star crossed love blessed her with a miraculously full term pregnancy, he can call her out on her fiction. After all,” and here Lex snorted. “The Demon’s Daughter can’t admit she resorted to stealing a used condom from the trash. I rather expect she’ll try to reframe that part of the narrative.”

“Oh, my god.” Conner put his head down on the table. “Oh, no.”

He knew it. He fucking knew he should have walked out the moment he’d signed the papers and left everyone to fend for themselves. 

Lex hadn’t said it outright, but with the example of Talia and his early comparison of what she wanted to the process that grew Conner, it was just too awful a suggestion for it not to be the truth…. 

When it came to Lex, the least comfortable answer was almost always the accurate one.

“Has she used the research?” Batman demanded, slamming his hands down on the table. “Talk.”

Lex shrugged and crossed his legs. “No idea. I sold it to her and haven’t seen her since. No whispers, even. Maybe she’s used it already, maybe she won’t for another ten years. Either way, you’re welcome. Now’s the time to start brainstorming baby names. You don’t want to get stuck in my boat where someone else picked and the paperwork’s a small nightmare--”

“You’re lying.”

Lex raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need you to believe me, _detective_. I honestly don’t care if you do. It’s what happened. Either you heed the warning or you can have fun with a teenager that gets hung up on the repetition of sounds. I promise, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.” He gave Conner a long suffering look and nudged him with his foot under the table, as Superman hurried to Batman’s side, talking to him in a low voice as Green Lantern and J’onn also leaned into the conversation. “I thought you’d get a treat out of hearing about family drama other than your own for a change. Judging from your expression, your usual ongoing existential crisis just tripled in intensity. I’d like to claim credit, if I can. Do tell.”

Conner refused to lift his head. “No. I don’t want to know.”

“Don’t want to know what?”

The rest of the room quieted down, just in time to hear Conner mumble, “I’m a hybrid, not a clone. You keep saying it, because my DNA is recombinated. It’s… there’s no known way to do it artificially. Please tell me you found a way to do it artificially.”

Lex had the nerve to chuckle. He patted Conner’s arm. “If you’re asking me if I stole a used condom out of Superman’s trash, the answer is no, son.”

“Oh, thank god.” Conner wasn’t sure if it was Clark or him who said it first. Didn’t care. They shared a relieved glance.

“Well, I didn’t do it personally. That’s what interns are for. Which reminds me--” Lex leaned down to reach into the briefcase he’d brought along with him. This time, he emerged with a legal envelope that seemed quite unrelated to the already signed paperwork they’d handled earlier. He raised his eyebrows at the roomful of horrified expressions. Even the green-light bassinet had frozen mid-rock. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you acknowledged that Cadmus stole Superman’s DNA to make Conner, yet somehow, this is the part that crosses the line. This is where you start thinking to yourselves, ‘wow, that was inappropriate of them’. Thinking we used blood or saliva made it somehow more civilized?”

Conner distantly considered crawling under the table. 

“Speaking of Conner’s origins, this is for your grandmother.” Lex pushed the envelope across the table towards him. 

Conner stared at him with the fatalistic weariness of an orphan in a war zone. What fresh hell could his father unleash upon him this time? “No. I won’t look. I’d rather die.”

“For the love of-- it’s baby pictures. See?” Lex upended the envelope, sending a series of glossy printouts of digital photos in varying sizes scattering across the table. Conner covered his eyes with his hand, but ended up taking a surreptitious peek between his fingers anyway. 

Lex hadn’t lied. They were technically baby photos. 

Weird as fuck baby photos. 

A close up of a small, dark haired infant’s face-- skin pink-y and pale, blue eyes half cracked open against the light and a tiny thumb sticking out of its mouth. A millimeter ruler took up the bottom half of the image, suggesting it's motive was more about reporting size than capturing his squished newborn-esque features. The next one showed a full body shot of infant Conner curled up in a tank of clear, slightly bubbling liquid, his eyes shut but his expression serene. A tangle of white monitor stickers, wires, and cords attached to his upper body, while a small digital label was illuminated below: **Kr0N13-- Viable** . Another photo was just the soles of Conner’s left foot, next to another clinical ruler. A small notepad had been captured in the frame, with the words _Day One: Optimal Growth Pattern Achieved_ handwritten. In the next, Conner was at least a few months old (probably?) as the same three shots repeated, with only minor differences: Conner’s full body shot showed him curled outwards, eyes wide open as he surveyed the cameraman and sucked thoughtfully on his toes. Even more monitor stickers covered his little torso. This time the notepad said _Day Two_.

Conner squinted. “Huh. Guess I did have an umbilical cord.” 

J’onn peered over his shoulder with an inscrutable raise of brow. 

Lex’s facial expression etched with victory. “ _I told you so_. I told you so many times. I can’t believe no one believed me. Did anyone actually think we gave you a naval for cosmetic reasons?” 

No one deigned to answer that.

“I’m a little shocked you didn’t try to bargain with them,” Conner muttered, flipping through the stack. The collection seemed to be made up of random bits of visual documentation up until he appeared to be about two or three years old biologically. According to the laboratory time stamps at the bottoms of each frame, that had been achieved in about nineteen days. Damn. It was an impressive amount of vaguely disturbing photos, considering. “Seen if you could get me to shave my head or something.”

“Oh, these have already been paid for, I assure you,” Lex said. He met Conner’s gaze and rolled his eyes. “Your grandmother and I ran into each other when you were recovering here. She promised to stop by my offices in Metropolis to give me a proper Kansian hello. I don’t know what that means, but I agreed to surrender these in exchange for her promise that she would absolutely not.”

Of course she had. Martha would have waterboarded Lex with fresh lemonade and a red gingham tea towel if she thought it would help her round out the family photo album. The woman was ruthless.

That sparked a new thought. 

Conner couldn’t help the smirk stealing across his face. Snickered. Rocking forward helplessly, he clapped his hands over his mouth and shook so hard that a single tear actually started rolling down his face. 

Apparently, Kryptonian lungs weren’t immune to heaving laughter. 

The room quieted. Even Batman was watching him now-- wary concern somehow conveyed through the enigmatic menace of the cowl. 

Clark put a hand on his shoulder. “You alright there, kiddo?”

Nodding clumsily, Conner pushed the awful, mad scientist inspired photos of what appeared to be his spectacularly unphotogenic toddlerhood at him. “She’s going to scrapbook these. She’s going to use Precious Moments background paper with teddy bear and heart stickers and she’ll hot glue blue ribbons on the pages, next to these--” his voice cracked and had to look away from the images to suck in air. “--and there’s _nothing we can say to change her mind_.”

Clark’s brows furrowed as he covered his mouth with his hand, looking away. When he looked back at him, his eyes shone. His lips twitched into a helpless smile before he wrapped them around his teeth in vain. 

Conner knew he was one hundred percent correct.

Lex groaned somewhere in front of them. 

Plucking out the worst offender (Conner at about age two, covered in enough mismatched chest monitors to obscure the majority of his skin, complete with a half-lit neural cap and a consternated facial expression that gave him the overall aesthetic of a gassy cyborg), Clark held it up in front of them. Only barely straight faced. “What? Don’t you think it’ll look good framed on the hall wall? Next to my first day of --” he cackled, unable to finish the word. Tried again, voice trembling. “--kindergarten photos--” he cleared his throat “and state fair pony rides--” 

* * *

Conner wound down slowly, wiping tears from his eyes and sipping from the water bottle J’onn had pressed into his hand a few minutes back. The cold, not quite metal wall behind his chair helped steady him. Batman and Superman had disappeared to ‘focus on more important tasks’ which he knew perfectly well meant ‘hide out in the security room to panic and swear about Lex’. Conner rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, clearing away the last dregs of mirth with a lopsided grin. “Ah, thanks, Dad. I needed that.”

Lex’s irritation seemed to have halved alongside the room’s occupancy. He uncrossed his legs. “Believe it or not, those are the most… attractive photos. Or, more accurately, the least problematic.”

Hal pressed a scandalized hand to his chest, glancing away from where Lian was dozing in a child-sized green hammock. “Don’t tell me you saved a pic of the condom.”

“No really, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know,” Conner sighed, screwing the lid back on and setting the bottle down on the table. “Though you don’t have any with the genomorphs in them, do you? I’d love to see any of those.”

Lex gave him an amused look. “I’ll look into it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get planet side. There’s something to be said about counting chickens before they’ve hatched, but I’ve got a renewed interest in my gala’s guest list.”

Conner got a bad feeling, undercut by the mingling sense of exasperation and amusement that seemed to accompany dealing with Lex. “You’re not thinking about inviting the remaining living members of your spite list to prove that you successfully reproduced?”

Lex snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want them at my party; that’d be more tortuous for me than revenge on them. I’ll send them copies of whatever articles the celebrity watch circuits throw together about you.”

“Oh, god. Tell me you’re joking.” Conner felt his face arrange in it’s most puppy-like pleading expression, powerless to stop it. “Tell me I’m not going to warrant more than a casual mention and a few hours of awkward small talk with diplomats.”

“I’m a wealthy, politically active white man. I’m never _not_ on the radar of someone on the celebrity circuit. They probably won’t dig up much on their own and I have no intention of doing an interview,” Lex pointed out. He rested a finger on his chin. “Though the idea has merit…”

“No. Do not.”

“What? We can get ahead of the rumors.” Lex waved a hand as Conner let out a despairing noise. “Oh, relax. I’m not going to do that. Worst thing that currently exists about you on the internet is ‘baby bear high guy’ and your name isn’t even mentioned.”

“Thank god.”

“No,” Lex went on airily. “I thought I’d reach out and extend invitations to some old friends I haven’t seen in ages. Renew old connections. Laugh about old times.”

Conner pressed his lips together. “Criminals?”

“Worse, their more legitimate brethren,” Lex informed him. “Ivy League deans. They’re all frauds of one form or another, but they have their strengths.” A sly glance. “Such as control over medical school admissions.”

“No,” Conner snapped, rounding on him. Lian jerked awake at the steep shift in tone, but rather than crying, she let out a happy, anticipatory shriek (Conner could kind of understand why Will was a little worried). “Don’t you dare bribe my way into a pretentious university. I’m getting in on my own merits or not at all.”

Lex gave a disgusted sigh. “No one gets in on their own merits. Well, maybe some of the poor kids do: that’s not so much about accomplishment so much about tax breaks and early head-hunting opportunities. Frankly, it’s downright predatory. I wouldn’t venerate it.”

“I don’t care. Don’t you dare.” Conner took a step closer to him and glowered up at him. “Promise me you won’t.”

Lex held his hand palm-up as though swearing an oath. “Fine. I promise not to bribe your way into school.” 

“Or exchange favors. Or threats. And no offers of generous donations.” Conner jabbed his finger at Lex’s chest with each new qualifier. “Stay out of my education. It’s my decision.”

“That's ridiculous. I’ll do nothing of the sort.”

“Then I won’t go to school.”

Lex raised his hands in mock surrender, thoroughly unimpressed. “You must understand, son, I don’t doubt your stubbornness. I just don’t think you have the spite required to make yourself miserable for the rest of your life in order to disappoint me.”

Conner considered him through narrowed eyes. “Fine. Maybe not, but two can play this game.”

“Game.”

“Or whatever you want to call these Petty Vengeance Olympics you’re so determined to medal in.”

Lex’s eyes narrowed. He glanced down at his briefcase suspiciously and folded his arms. “If I can’t go back on my deals--”

“Oh, I’ll still do everything I promised.” Conner raised his eyebrows. “I’ll change my name. Amend my birth certificate. I’ll go to your stupid gala and let you introduce me to all those important, influential people as your long lost son with a lot of vague comments about me going to medical school someday.” He spread his hands with an irate smile. “Meanwhile, I’ll be right beside you the whole time, introducing myself as a beat poet.”

Lex was actually robbed of words. 

Hal choked.

“I am unfamiliar with that--” Martian Manhunter began, only to be shushed.

“I’ll do it with a straight face too,” Conner pledged, crossing his arms. “I’ll wear a non-ironic beret. I’ll start tapping on things--” and here, he drummed his hands on the table, deliberately off beat. “--in a _painfully literal_ hunt for inspiration. I’ll improvise some poetry-- and let me remind you that I took sculpture, so it will not be remotely informed by actual poetry-- based off of whatever topics people try to politely change the subject to. Politics. Business. War. Poverty. Nothing is off limits and, I promise you, my adjectives will be selected at random and my rhyme schemes _excruciating_.”

Lex seemed to be having difficulty forming words past his thousand yard stare. It sounded more like a distant echo. “No. You wouldn’t.”

“I’m already ‘baby bear high guy’. I might not like it, but I’ve gotten used to looking ridiculous. For me, it ends with just one miserable evening, but for you, it’s the debut of the next generation of Luthors on one of the biggest nights of your career.” Conner leaned towards him and lifted his chin, a little annoyed at having to make a threat while looking up (He didn’t have to be as tall as Clark one day, he’d decided. Just at least as tall as Lex). “Go on, Dad. Call my bluff.”

J’onn’s voice was low, directed at Hal. “I really do not understand--”

He was shushed again.

Lex let out a long, ragged exhale and set his jaw. “Fine. No deans.”

“There’d better not be.”

Lex waited only until Conner had grabbed the photo folder off the table and taken Lian. He wiped an imaginary tear away. “I’m just so emotional. We should requisition the footage--” he nodded to the corner camera. “--for your grandmother. Baby’s first threat of family shame. I’m so proud. It’s such a milestone--”

“ _Stop_ ,” Conner groaned, shifting Lian on his hip. “What happened to planning your stupid party? Go. I have other things to do.”

“I hope those things don’t involve falling off the face of the earth. Again. Without notice.”

“I’m still babysitting. I have no idea for how long. I’ll get my phone from my locker on the way out,” Conner said, shoving open the door. How was it that even when he’d won with Lex, it somehow still felt like losing? “Jesus, Dad. Try not to panic when I’m out of sight.”

“I’ll do my best,” Lex assured him, shutting his briefcase with a snap as Conner stalked out. “Try keeping it on you this time. Of course, we wouldn’t have to worry about it if--”

“No trackers.” Conner called over his shoulder, wishing he could slam the door behind him.

  
  



End file.
